Ordinary People
by MyLoversPrayer
Summary: "In this lifetime and the next, I'll always find you, I'll always love you." Because he's Fitz and she's Olivia, and it's inevitable. Because when everything changes, they're the one thing that doesn't. *One Shots* (Update: "Moments II"; post-finale fic)
1. Evening Delights

I. Evening Delights

 **Author's Note: I've had the strongest urge to write lately, but, always the story commitment-phobe, I've decided to post a series of one shots. I'll stick to posting here for now (and possibly developing a few into lengthier stories). Criticism and suggestions/requests are always welcomed.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Scandal or any of its characters.**

* * *

 _Because weddings and small talk aren't always a disastrous mix._

 _xxx_

She feels blissfully unaware of what is going on around her. Sipping on her second glass of the night, she revels in the delayed bitterness that taints her mouth and embraces the immediate warmth that slips down her throat.

She relaxes in the seat she has taken up in the corner of the room. She eyes the seat's place card; the name printed on it is vaguely familiar - one she's heard in passing once or twice. She decides not to give it any more thought and downs the rest of her glass.

Deciding that she's reached her limit for the night in order to drive home, she turns her attention to the center of the room. The dance floor is aflame with pairs of bodies, some moving with the ease of familiarity, others dipping and sliding clumsily - movements made sloppy by the effects of alcohol.

She can't help but smile at the pair in the midst of it all. There, grinning uncharacteristically wildly, is her former professor and forever-mentor. He's dressed sharply in a black suit - a contrast to the white one donned by his new husband. The two move together effortlessly, occasionally sharing smiles and pleasantries with those around them, but otherwise in their own little world.

"They look so happy together."

She looks up at the sound of a voice. Her eyes meet those of someone she's sure she's never met. She definitely would have remembered seeing eyes so piercing, so blue…

"I've never seen Cyrus smile like that."

"Or smile, period."

She lets out a surprised laugh and turns away, instinctually reaching for her glass. She can feel his eyes on her, and before she has the chance to think of something else to do with her hands, he's offering,

"Would you like me to get you another?"

She contemplates saying yes. She wants to send him on his way so that she can slip away before he returns. He's been there for less than a minute and his presence is making her increasingly unnerved. She doesn't like it, but she's intrigued, at the very least.

"No thanks, I'm good," she looks back up at him and immediately wishes she hadn't. He smiles at her and her mind suddenly becomes foggy.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

Again, she can't help but indulge her curiosity and shakes her head 'no'. She gives him a small, polite smile as he slips into the seat beside her. They sit in silence for a moment, both of them watching the other guests on the dance floor.

"So," he turns to her, "what brings you over here, all by your lonesome?"

She gives an impish smile in reply, "I've always enjoyed people-watching more than actually interacting at these things." She thinks her words over and adds as an afterthought, "You don't seem that bad though."

He grins, "Well thanks." After a pause, "I'm the same way though. It's why I asked Cyrus to put me back here," he nods towards the place card situated in front of her seat.

She glances at it and then back at him, her eyes slightly wide.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I hadn't realized-"

"No, it's ok - it's no problem, really," he smiles reassuringly, but she can't help but feel embarrassed at the realization that he didn't intentionally approach her so much as he was just trying to return to his seat.

Unsure of what she should do next, she mumbles a quick, "Sorry again," and looks away, scanning the room once more.

A moment passes and she feels compelled to say something - _anything_ to fill the silence.

"I'm trying to remember why your name sounds so familiar."

She turns to face him and finds that he is staring at her intently. Their eyes meet and he shakes his head slightly, as if his mind was elsewhere.

"You're probably thinking of my father. He was a senator-"

"No, I know him. But I mean you specifically, Fitzgerald Grant _the_ _third_ ," she stops, "Sorry, I didn't mean to cut you off."

"Stop doing that," he teases.

"Doing what?" She bites down on her bottom lip, an old habit she could have sworn she got rid of years ago.

His eyes lower for a moment, and she watches as his Adam's apple bobs before his gaze meets hers once more. His eyes seem darker than before, more intense, and the sight sends a shot of excitement straight through her.

"Apologizing. There's no need," his words sound more carefully constructed, like they were no longer what he felt inclined to say.

"Oh," she suddenly feels hot and glances down at her lap. "Sorr-" she starts and immediately stops, unable to stop herself from falling into a fit of giggles.

He soon joins her, chuckling with a shake of his head. She's grateful for the reprieve. As their laughter dies down, the air is not nearly as thick as it had been a moment before.

He takes her in for a moment.

"You don't strike me as someone who apologizes often."

She lets out another short laugh, "You're right."

And it's true. She rarely - if ever - apologizes. But then again, she rarely feels so unsettled, so out of her element…

"I'd like to say it's the alcohol, but," she shakes her head, "I don't know."

He gives her a look that says he knows, and, more importantly, he knows that she knows. They're silent for a moment before he starts to speak.

"Well, Ms. Pope-" he stops abruptly, and his cheeks light up with a pink tinge. He looks away, as if he's done something wrong.

It takes her a moment to realize why he's reacted the way he did, and she can feel her own cheeks heat up as she does.

She's certainly not tipsy enough to recall that she didn't tell him her name.

He finally turns back, a look of apprehension marring his features.

"On a scale of one to ten, how bad would it be if I told you I've been watching you and snuck a peek at your place card when you got up for your second glass of wine…"

She's shocked, and flattered, and the slightest bit worried. She immediately tries to replay the last few hours in her head, hoping - _praying_ that she hasn't done anything embarrassing.

"Hmm," she pretends to think, tapping her chin with her index finger. "It's a little questionable, but not exactly Dateline-worthy, so maybe a four."

He relaxes, and they share another laugh.

"You know," he starts after they've quieted, "you're quite the legend according to Cy."

Her eyebrows rise in surprise, and she glances at the man still enraptured with his husband on the dance floor. "Really?"

She turns back just as he begins nodding.

"Oh yeah, definitely. He always raves about you - how great of a student you were, how you wiped the floor with every debate team you ever went up against -"

"Not _every_ team," she corrects with a modest smile.

He rolls his eyes playfully, "Well, obviously it was close enough. I've never heard him brag so much about someone else."

She shrugs, "I owe a lot to his being a great mentor. He's a cantankerous son of a bitch, but a great mentor nonetheless."

No sooner than she finishes does she see Cyrus walking straight towards them.

"Speak of the devil…"

He turns around and lets out a chuckle as Cyrus approaches them.

"What's so funny?" Cyrus offers as a greeting.

"Were your ears burning? We were just talking about you," she giggles as she takes him in. He's coated with a light film of sweat and his cheeks are red, and she's instantly taken back to when he would end class looking much the same after an impassioned lecture.

"All good things I hope," he grabs a chair and places it in front of them before sitting down unceremoniously. "I came over here to say I'm glad you two are talking. I wanted to introduce you before the night ended."

At their looks of confusion, he continues,

"Liv is helping me with the Caldwell campaign," he looks between them, "and I want to send him to your restaurant once or twice."

With a sudden realization, Olivia's eyes light up, "That's why your name is familiar." She turns so that she is no longer looking at Cyrus, "There was a review for your restaurant in the paper a few weeks ago."

Fitz looks at her, surprised.

"You look shocked," she grins.

"I didn't think anyone actually read the paper anymore."

Cyrus clears his throat, reminding them of his presence.

"Well this is even better. Fitz, give Liv your number and you guys can work out the details this week."

She watches as a look of hesitation crosses Fitz's face, and her stomach drops. And just as quickly as he appeared, Cyrus walks away, leaving them to sit in awkward silence.

She observes him, and can't help but feel saddened by his apparent unwillingness.

"Look, you don't have to give me your number. I'm sure I can have someone call on Monday-"

"No," he quickly interrupts, his eyes widening, "it's not- I want to give you my number," he looks embarrassed when the words leave his mouth, but only for a moment. "It's just that I've spent most of my adult life avoiding politics…"

"But your father?"

"-is the reason why."

There's an animosity in his voice that she knows isn't directed towards her. There's obviously a story there, but she knows that this is neither the time nor place to ask questions.

 _Another time_ she tells herself.

She watches his mind seem to go somewhere else and, without thinking, places her hand on top of his on the table.

"I'll tell Cy that we'll set things up somewhere else."

His eyes meet hers and soften.

 _There he is_.

"Cyrus can be persistent," he pauses, seeming to think over his next words carefully. "He and my father, they tried to push me into running for governor after my time in the Navy. It's actually how I met Cyrus…"

He sounds so sad, so empty at the memory, and she's no longer curious, no longer wants to hear anymore. He continues,

"One thing led to another, and my father and I had a falling out. Cyrus and I bumped into each other a few years down the road and we've kept in touch ever since. He even helped me sort out some of the legalities with my restaurant."

He glances in the direction Cyrus went appreciatively. When he returns his attention to her, his eyes fall on her hand on his, and he shifts. Feeling that she has overstepped, she removes her hand, placing it in her lap.

 _Why did she do that?_

Not a moment passes before he's reaching for her hand. He entwines their fingers and places their hands back on the table. He sends her a wide smile, his eyes beaming with admiration.

"I'll think over his proposition, but is it ok if I give you my number anyway?"

He leans in, and she suddenly finds it hard to focus. His hand joined with hers is so warm - so electrifying. The way his eyes gleam with hope and the way his lips settle into a crooked smile send her head into a tizzy.

"I don't see a problem with it," she speaks in a low voice, and it seems to have an affect on him. He leans in further, and she can smell the liquor on his breath.

She fights the urge to close her eyes.

There's a sudden pull between them - an invisible force making it increasingly hard to not close the distance between them. She's not sure if it's been there that whole time. But it is, at once, far too potent - far too present for either of them to ignore.

Just as it starts to feel that they're the only ones in the room, just as his eyes fall on her lips and her eyes on his….

"Fitzgerald Grant! I've been looking for you, you son of a bitch. You're harder to find than a pig in a sewer."

They both pull back, the moment interrupted by whom Olivia recognizes as the incredibly wealthy, incredibly grating Hollis Doyle.

"Hollis," Fitz greets through a tight smile and clenched teeth.

They begin to converse, Hollis offering her only a nod and smile of acknowledgement. Hollis congratulates him on the restaurant, mentioning that his father is probably rolling around in his grave ("the old bastard, may he rest in peace"). Though the conversation is pleasant - well, as pleasant as a conversation with Hollis Doyle can be - she can tell that Fitz is growing annoyed.

It seems that Hollis soon picks up on his exasperation. He concludes with, "Well, me and my Lillian are gonna make our way over to your place when we get the chance," and bids them farewell.

Fitz sighs and rubs his temple.

"That man is… something else."

"He's definitely interesting," she laughs.

He nods in agreement and scans the area.

"It doesn't look like we'll be getting anymore surprise visitors."

She takes his word for it and reaches into her purse. She pulls out her phone and, after a few taps, hands it to him, "So that we don't forget."

He quickly enters his number and gives it back, "Trust me, I wouldn't have forgotten."

She glances down, and the contact name catches her attention.

"Trois?"

"It's French for three."

"I know, but why?"

He grins, "Because you're the first person to recognize me, Fitzgerald Thomas Grant _the_ _Third_ outside the shadow of my father. And you've been drinking Chateau Latour all night," his eyes fall on her lips once more.

She tries to ignore the way it makes her breath hitch and raises an eyebrow.

"I didn't peg you for a wino?"

"I'm not, but I've had my fair share while ordering for the restaurant."

"Mmm, this restaurant," she rests her elbow on the table and places her chin in her palm. "I'm definitely gonna have to stop by some time. Especially if we'll be in cohorts for the Caldwell campaign…"

She suddenly feels bold and places her hand on his leg.

"That critic really liked you," she changes her voice so that it is softer, huskier, " _Grant's menu is nothing shy of a culinary phenomenon. His blending of flavors - foreign and near - will send any diner on a tantalizing trip that borders on being sensual_."

"Wow," he cuts her off with a laugh, his own voice a little shaky, "I think that's what it said exactly."

Her hand slides further up his thigh, "Photographic memory."

He shifts and gives her a look - daring, excited, _hungry_ …

"Good to know."

They stare at one another for a tense moment, the air thick. She wants this - whatever _this_ is, but she's aware that they're in a public place and that they barely know each other. And so, she moves her hand back down until it's resting innocently on his knee. The look in his eye changes to something cooler - longing mixed with frustration.

"So, tell me more about your _phenomenal_ _menu_."

They spend the next forty minutes discussing anything and everything. She learns that he eventually decided to go to culinary school after serving in the Navy and spent some time in both France and Italy. She tells him about how she managed to graduate from law school at twenty-two and is currently in job limbo while helping Cyrus out with a few campaigns.

He reveals that he wants to open another restaurant and maybe write a cookbook or two. She shares that she hopes to open her own firm or maybe spend some time in the White House - anything to help make a difference.

They're both over the moon when the other admits they are unquestioningly single.

They flirt in French when she reveals that she's fluent in several languages thanks to years at boarding school. They're impossibly close when they whisper their latent dreams and fondest childhood memories.

And then, far too soon, the reception is over. Guests share goodbyes; Cyrus and James make the rounds, and, much quicker than either of them would like, he's gotten their coats and is walking her to her car.

"So, Livvie," her stomach fills with butterflies at the nickname. It slipped out of his mouth some time during their banter about the pronunciation of "plantain" and has had the same effect on her every time.

"When can I expect your visit?"

She stops in front of her car and turns to him, "Hmm, maybe next week? Things are about to pick up with campaign and this week's gonna be kind of hectic…"

He seems to think for a moment, "What if I could give you a private tour a little sooner, like tonight?"

His face is so hopeful, and she so desperately wants to say yes…

But she has to be up early tomorrow. The wedding set them back a day or two and it's going to be guns blazing when they get back. She's going to need to be as well-rested as possible…

"Fitz, I wish I could say yes, but-"

His face falls and she can't bring herself to finish the sentence. His look of disappointment is gone as quickly as it appeared, and he smiles, "It's fine, Liv. I know you're busy. I just would've hated myself if I hadn't asked."

She can hear the sadness in his voice, feel it in her heart.

"I'm sorry," she offers with a sad smile.

Neither of them are ready to say goodnight, and so they continue to stand there, staring at each other.

"I really enjoyed talking with you tonight, Livvie," he finally speaks.

"Me too," she adjusts the collar of his jacket, "Best unwanted company ever."

He grimaces playfully and she giggles.

"I guess this is goodnight," his hand is on her waist and neither can recall how they've managed to so easily invade one another's space.

"I guess it is," she speaks softly, scared that anything louder will burst the bubble they've found themselves in.

Without much of a warning, they're both leaning in.

Their lips collide softly, tentative and shy. It feels better than she's imagined and she finds herself falling into the kiss, leaning until he's the only thing holding her up, his hands gripping her waist.

The more they get, the more they crave. Her hand moves to the back of his head, her fingers running along his curls. She can't remember who sought entry first, but their tongues soon sweep across one another's, sweet remnants of her wine and those of his scotch blend until they can't tell who drank what.

Only when her lungs are burning and her head is spinning does she pull away. She moves her hand to his face, cupping his cheeks gently. His grip on her waist tightens.

His eyes are wild, stormy. He looks over her face adoringly, and she's sure that she's doing the same.

"I've wanted to do that all night," he speaks after a moment, sheepishly.

"Great minds desire alike…"

They both grin, and she straightens; his grip on her loosening considerably.

"I'll give you a call," she promises.

She steps out of his arms and instantly feels cold. The wind sweeping between them is foreign and unwelcomed.

"Get home safe," he moves closer, much to her appreciation, and places a soft kiss on her cheek.

She nods, and with a final look, turns to get in her car. Once she's inside, he steps aside, letting her back out of the spot, and waves as she makes her way out of the parking garage.

She's barely made it down the street when she glances at her dashboard. The clock reads 12:37 and she sighs, knowing that she'll barely get five hours of sleep by the time she's home and settled.

And suddenly, a thought crosses her mind.

She used to pull all-nighters all the time in law school and do perfectly well. What difference did a year or two make?

She pulls over, putting her car in park and double checking to make sure that her doors are locked before pulling out her phone. She scrolls down, stopping at "Trois".

The phone rings only once, and she can hear his smile when he picks up,

"Miss me already?"

She has no reason to lie, "Yes."

He chuckles and they fall into a comfortable silence. She takes a deep breath, "So, I realized, the night is still young."

He doesn't say anything, so she continues.

"Is that private tour offer still good?"

He doesn't reply on the phone, and she instead hears two quick honks of a horn. She rolls down her window as a black BMW pulls up next to her.

"It's about a fifteen minute drive from here, if you're up for it," his smile is so big, and his giddiness is contagious.

"Lead the way."

* * *

They stay on the phone the entire way there. He acts as her GPS and she excitedly points out that they're only a ten-minute drive away from her apartment complex.

He leads her into the empty parking lot in the back. He jumps out his car, a set of keys in his hand, before quickly making his way to her car and opening her door for her.

"Such a gentleman," she smiles appreciatively, and he takes her hand in his.

After the door has been unlocked and the alarm turned off, he flips on the light and turns to her with a wide smile.

"Welcome to _Magdalena's._ "

He explains that the name is in honor of his childhood nanny, who first taught him how to cook, while leading her around the kitchen. He points out certain appliances and various meats that have been left to marinate over night, and he answers her questions with enthusiasm.

"So, do things ever get _Hell's_ _Kitchen_ crazy?"

He chuckles, "They can be, but I try to make sure that doesn't happen. Henry, my sous chef, is pretty good at keeping things under control."

"Have you ever considered going on one of those competition shows?"

"Thought about it? Yes. Actually considered? Not really," he smiles, watching her continue to walk around.

"Come on, I wanna show you the dining area."

He leads the way, and she's impressed - very impressed, actually. The area is spacious, and the layout is classic chic. Neutral colors line the walls, pops of color bursting from the chairs and booths. A bar lines the wall to their left and a few pictures sit on the wall to their right.

"Nice place you got here, Grant," she compliments, walking over to the photos hanging on the wall.

She glances at a few before turning to him, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Morgan Freeman ate here?"

He walks up beside her and nods with a grin, "Yup. I'm pretty sure I was shaking when we took that picture. I was so excited."

"Wow," she continues to look at the pictures, most of them showing him with a politician and a few with an actor or actress. "All of these people came and you've only been open what, a year?"

"Eight months," his tone holds justified pride, and she can't help but feel happy for him.

"That's amazing, Fitz," she says with genuine excitement, and the look on his face makes her heart swell.

He leads her to the bar and motions for her to sit as he makes his way around the counter.

"Can I get you anything?"

Her first instinct is to say yes, but she remembers that she's already drunk that night and still needs to get home. She tells him such, and he nods with understanding.

"Can I take a rain check though?"

"Of course," he leans onto the counter so that they're face to face.

"There is something I do want now though."

He raises a questioning eyebrow.

"How about a kiss from a handsome stranger?"

"Hmm," he feigns consideration, "I can get you a kiss and from someone handsome, but the stranger part may be a little tough. Maybe a kiss from a handsome friend, instead?"

Without answering, she leans in and quickly presses her lips to his. It's a peck - over in a few seconds, yet her body still feels like it was set aflame.

"That'll do."

He walks back around the counter and stands in front of her. Her knees spread to let him stand between her legs. He smiles down at her and moves a piece of hair behind her ear.

"You're so beautiful," he speaks lowly.

She caresses his cheek, "You make me feel like I'm going crazy."

It's all the prompt he needs, and, soon, his lips are back on hers. This kiss is much like the one in the parking garage. They take their time exploring one another's mouths. They're both suddenly aware of the lack of barriers between them as her dress rides further up.

His hands are everywhere - in her hair, running over her back, grazing her thigh - it makes her feel like she's on fire. Minutes pass and he moves his hands lower on her waist, pushing her against him. She wraps her legs around him, and, soon, she's in the air. Whimpers and groans fill the silence around them.

They're moving, and she's not sure where they're going, but she's honestly too far gone to care. Suddenly, her back is against a wall and his hands grip her backside. They both groan in appreciation.

Everything is hazy and hot, too hot. She wants him - she _needs_ him. And, while her hands are roaming free in his hair, on the back of his neck and his hands are holding her so firmly - she hears an all too familiar sound.

Her phone is ringing, and it's just enough to stop them. They breathe heavily, taking in the other's disheveled appearance. She unwraps her legs and he helps her get her footing.

They're desperately trying to calm down, but she knows there's no denying it - they've lit a fire that's going to need to be doused at one point or another.

Still wanting to be close to him, she leans her head on his chest and wraps her arms around his middle. He holds her tenderly and strokes her back.

"Whoever that is better be important," she sighs.

She feels his chuckle more than she hears it as his chest rumbles.

"At one-something in the morning, it better be."

She contemplates going to check but decides against it.

"I'm going to need to leave soon," she doesn't need to look up to know that he looks as sad as she does. She hears him sigh.

"I didn't get to cook for you, but there's ice cream in the freezer if you want."

Any excuse to stay with him longer is too tempting and she raises her head.

"Ice cream sounds great."

* * *

"Don't you dare!" She's staring him down, a bottle of chocolate syrup ready and aimed in her hand.

"And why not?" He smirks, moving closer with a can of whipped cream.

"Because there's no way I'm letting you get whipped cream on this dress without major consequences."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take."

She doesn't have time to think before he's pressing down on the nozzle and she's hit. She retaliates immediately, squeezing the bottle in her hand. He's laughing, she's screaming and they're both covered in a matter of minutes.

The whole thing started innocently enough. They were joking around, taking the can of whipped cream to the head. She offered to do it for him, and, just when she pressed down on the nozzle, she moved it so that it sprayed everywhere but his mouth.

He looked at her in shock, his face covered in whipped cream. And so sparked their current predicament.

They're making a mess, and neither seems to care. When they're both covered substantially, he picks her up, spinning her around.

"Fitz! Stop," she's laughing hard, deliriously happy.

"Payback, baby," he spins her around one last time before finally setting her down.

They look crazy, their wedding attire stained in cream and syrup.

She should be mad. She should be _irate_ , given how much dry cleaning is going to cost - but she can't be. She can't wipe the grin off of her face, even if she wanted to.

He looks her over and begins to laugh, "I really did a number on that dress."

"Tell me about it," she whines, before starting to laugh again.

"If it's worth anything, you still look gorgeous," he leans down and pecks her lips. "And, I'll happily pay for dry cleaning."

"That won't be necessary," she glances around, taking in the mess they've made. "Besides, you might want to pay someone to clean all this up instead."

He mimics her movement and grimaces as he sees what they've done.

"Come on," she pats his chest, "show me where your cleaning stuff is. We'll get this cleaned up in no time."

He seems surprised, "Liv, it's fine. You said you had to get out of here. I can take care of it-"

She walks to him, swiping his cheek gently to remove some syrup, "No, I helped make the mess. I'll help clean it up."

* * *

Cleaning up takes longer than either expected, because they can't keep their hands off of each other and sticky formal attire is, unsurprising, uncomfortable to maneuver in.

She tells him that this reminds him of the food fight her senior class staged in boarding school that landed them all with clean up duty for a week, and he recounts a similar tale from when he was in the Navy.

"Well this is the most fun I've had making a mess _and_ cleaning it up," he admits jokingly.

"Ditto," she agrees. She watches him put the mop away and takes one last cursory glance. "We did pretty well."

"We make a good team," he walks behind her. His arms snake around her waist and his chin rests on her shoulder.

"I have to agree."

They don't move for a long while, and, when they do, they know it's time to call it a night.

* * *

"Do you want me to follow you home?" He asks, double checking to make sure he's locked the door.

She shakes her head, "It's ok. Can you stay on the phone though?"

"Of course."

He walks her over to her car. They hug for a long moment, neither wanting to let go.

It's crazy. That she feels so deeply connected to a man after one night makes no sense. It's confusing and scary, and she knows the smart thing to do is run. But as she stands here, in his arms, it just feels so good, and the thought of running makes her feel so empty, so lost….

"Be safe," he advises for the second time that night as she gets into her car. She calls him and waits until he's settled in his own car before pulling off.

They don't speak as they drive to their respective homes. She hears his alarm going off moments after she walks into her own apartment.

"Are you inside, Liv?"

"Yup, just got in."

"Ok, me too."

There's a pause.

"Thank you for tonight," she walks through her apartment, her phone pressed to her ear as she begins to strip, climbing out of her ruined dress.

"I should be the one thanking you. That's the most alive I've felt in so long…."

Her heart skips a beat. It's exactly how she feels and she can't help but feel so connected to him in that moment.

"I know exactly what you mean."

They don't say anything because they don't need to. She feels content for the first time in forever.

"Goodnight, Fitz."

"Goodnight, Livvie."


	2. Evening Delights II

**Author's Note: Wow! I was completely overwhelmed by the response to the first one shot! I had honestly just wrote for the sake of it and had not expected much of a response. I have to give a major/huge/super THANK YOU to all who read/reviewed/shared. Words cannot express how much I appreciated the messages I received, and I honestly thank you from the bottom of my heart.**

 **The response is definitely what inspired me to do a part 2 (although I'm admittedly nervous and can only hope that it lives up to the first part), and I have a part 3 in mind as well. I have a handful of other one shots that I'm working on and would like to post, too. I'm trying to post once a week, and if not, every two weeks. I'll be going away to school soon and this is the schedule I'd like to keep up once I've gotten situated.**

 **With ALL of that said haha, here is part 2 of Evening Delights. (And, as always, criticism and suggestions are welcomed).**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Scandal or any of its characters.**

* * *

 **Evening Delights II**

"Have a good night, guys," he bids the last of his staff farewell, closing and locking the kitchen's back door behind them. He scans the room once, noting with satisfaction that everything appears as it should.

It was a hell of a day. Nearly twelve hours on his feet, more than a few particularly picky diners, and a rather unpleasant visit from Hollis Doyle left him feeling more drained than usual. He decides on the spot that tomorrow will be his first day off in a week and a half.

He checks his phone and smiles at the notification of a missed call. He's suddenly grateful that they were able to finish early that night; it is just a little beyond a quarter after twelve, and he knows that he can catch her if he's quick.

The thought makes his heart race.

It's been two weeks since he's seen her - two weeks since they stood in that very spot, her laughter filling him with a warmth he had never known. He finds that he spends most of his days remembering that night, thinking of how easily conversation flowed, how beautiful she was, how amazing her lips felt pressed against his…

 _He misses her._

It's irrational, given that they've talked on the phone a few times - he's heard her voice at least thrice this week - not to mention the fact that he's only actually seen her once. And he knows that it shouldn't make sense.

 _But he misses her_.

Just as he's pulled up her number, there's a knock at the door and he rolls his eyes. As much as he appreciates his employees, they have the terribly annoying habit of forgetting jewelry and keys that they've put aside before their shifts.

He holds his phone to his ear and makes his way to the door. She picks up just as he opens the door, and he's shocked at the sight before him.

"Hi," she smiles, her voice echoing in his ear a moment later.

"Hi," he hangs up and shoves his phone in his pocket before stepping forward. "What are you doing here?"

She mimics his movements, "I was passing by on my way home and saw the lights still on in the front. Your car was the only one back here, so I figured you were probably closing up for the night."

A grin spreads across his face,"You figured right." His arms wrap around her middle, bringing her to him.

He sighs in content, the feeling of her in his arms better than he's remembered.

"I've missed you," he's leaning down and whispering in her ear before he can stop himself. He feels her shiver, and her arms circle his neck.

She's quiet for a long moment and he's scared that he's come on too strong. She shifts and rests her forehead against his, "I've missed you too."

He looks into her eyes and can see her vulnerability. He can tell that she's not used to letting her walls down - that this is as scary and unnerving for her as it is for him.

"Come on," he speaks after a moment, "let's get inside before they have to defrost us with the meat tomorrow morning."

She giggles, and they separate from their embrace. He immediately holds out his hand for her to hold, and they make their way inside. She eyes the kitchen, a smirk settling on her face.

"What?"

She looks up at him, "They thought I was crazy at the dry cleaners. I may need to find a new one."

He chuckles, and she runs her hand over a counter.

"I can't get over how nice this kitchen is."

He stops walking, and their joined hands force her to do the same. He moves so that she's sandwiched between him and the counter.

"The kitchen itself isn't anything special."

She shrugs adorably, "Well it is to us, commoners, even those of us who don't cook."

He grins, "Oh, I forgot, you barely step foot in your own kitchen."

"Hey!" She slaps his chest. "Just because I order out more often than not -"

"If I recall correctly, Monday was Chinese, Wednesday was pizza, Thursday -"

" _Thursday_ was pizza," she corrects with an indignant poke to his chest. "Wednesday was popcorn," she looks up at him with a smug smile.

He wants to kiss it off her face. It's too tempting, and, without a second thought, he presses his lips to hers. The moment he does is unlike any other. He's been thinking about this for two weeks, ever since she swept into his life and left with a piece of him.

It's the first time since then that he's felt whole.

Her fingers are playing in the hair at the nape of his neck just like last time, and he's not surprised in the slightest by how familiar it feels. He pulls her closer and they both sigh.

They finally pull away, and his hands are instantly holding her face.

She bites her lip after a moment of silence, and he swallows hard at the sight. He runs his thumb over her bottom lip, coaxing it from its captivity. The second it's free, she places a light kiss on his thumb, and he can't stop the groan rising in his chest.

 _This woman…_

Just when he has half the mind to lay her down on the very counter she's leaning against, a low rumble breaks the silence.

His cheeks heat up in embarrassment as he realizes that it was his own stomach.

She raises her eyebrows, "And I'm the one who doesn't eat like I'm supposed to?"

They both laugh and he moves his hands so that they're resting on the counter at her sides.

"Sometimes when I'm here late, I just make something extra to take home," he nods in the direction of a take-out box a few feet away.

"Sorry," her arms settle around his neck, "I didn't mean to interrupt your routine."

He places a kiss on her forehead, "Best," on her right cheek, "Interruption," her left, "Ever."

She's grins up at him, and everything feels right in the world. He has no intention to move, until his stomach grumbles again and she pushes against his chest with a giggle.

"Ok, let's get you some food before your stomach swallows itself."

"I don't think that's actually possible." He chuckles and moves to grab the box. "Do you have to get going? I have enough for two," he opens the box to show her. She breathes in when he does and her eyes close.

"I ate about two hours ago, but that smells way too good to turn down."

He puts the box down and takes her hands in his.

"So, you'll join me?"

* * *

"This is nice."

Their eyes meet as he stands over her, filling her glass.

She smiles, "I'm finally getting the full Fitzgerald Grant experience."

He fills his own glass before sitting down across from her.

"Well as close as you can get at this time of night," he grins.

Wanting to make their impromptu dinner date as special as possible, Fitz took it upon himself to take down chairs and set a table in the middle of the room. He urged her to sit while he reheated their food, proportioning it as best he could on two plates like he would for his diners, before joining her with a choice bottle of wine.

He watches as she takes a sip and closes her eyes; he has to force himself to look away when she hums in appreciation.

"Great choice."

"I'm glad you like it."

He's relieved more so than anything else; he's never been much of a wine-drinker, but he desperately wants to impress her. Regardless of the easy chemistry between them, regardless of how it feels as though he's known her much longer than two weeks, he can't help but get nervous at the prospect of earning her affections. It's been so long since he's actually dated, and something just tells him that he shouldn't mess this up - that he _can't_ mess this up.

She compliments him repeatedly as they begin to dine, and he starts to feel more at ease. Conversation flows just as easily as it did the last time they were together. He catches her up on the semi-eventful days he's had since their last phone call and she does the same. The restaurant has kept him on his toes just as much as the Caldwell campaign has kept her on hers, and they both admit this is the first time they've gotten to relax in far too long.

"So," he leans forward and holds her hand across the table after they've both finished, "I can expect you guys later next week?"

She nods, "Probably Friday, but I'll let you know for sure by Tuesday morning."

"Should I be expecting the call from you or Cyrus?"

"Cyrus doesn't have nearly as much phone etiquette as I do so…"

"This, of course, coming from the woman who answers her phone - ' _What?'_ "

"Shut up! You would too if you had to deal with nearly as many automated phone calls as I do."

They're both laughing, and he's once again struck by how effortless things are with her. A moment passes before they fall silent. His thumb rubs the back of her hand and he realizes that he can't part from her - not yet.

"I -" he starts, then stops, fearing how it will come across. She looks at him, her eyes warmly imploring him to continue anyway. "I had a really good time with you, and I… just don't want it to end."

He's not sure what he expected her reaction to be, but it surprises him.

She smiles softly, "I know what you mean." She pauses and looks away from him, deep in thought. She takes in a breath and returns her gaze to his. "I just got a subscription to HBO. Cyrus was starting to get annoyed with my late night calls about work and said I needed to get a hobby. It seemed like a good investment at the time. I mean, I guess it still is - "

"- Livvie."

"Yes?"

"You're rambling."

She bites down on a smile and shakes her head, "Sorry. I just, I wanted to know if you wanted to come…watch HBO - _Game of Thrones_ or something. Tomorrow's my day off, but if it's too late for you…"

"I'd love to." He doesn't think twice. Any reason to stay with her any longer is good enough.

She smiles widely.

"It's not that far of a drive. Parking isn't that bad, but I can just drive us and bring you back here."

He stands and walks to her, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips.

"Sounds like a plan."

She removes the napkin from her lap, placing it on the table.

"Well, let's get this cleaned up."

He holds his hand out to her, "If I remember correctly, we do that quite well."

* * *

"Alright, here it is."

He looks around when she turns on the lights. He's immediately struck by how inviting her home is. Her touch is everywhere he looks. He envisions her just as she described during their phone conversations - unwinding on the couch, phone pressed to her ear and a glass of wine raised to her lips.

"It's very you."

She laughs, "I hope that's a compliment."

"It most definitely is." He pulls her into him, pecking her lips softly. She smiles and guides him to the couch.

"Alright, lover boy, make yourself at home," she urges him to sit. "I'm just gonna go change."

"Is that an invitation to search for any old yearbooks or baby pictures?" He calls after her as she walks down a hallway.

"I'll be quick, so don't snoop too much!" She calls back.

He chuckles and removes his coat, placing it carefully on the back of the couch. He starts to remove his shoes then stops, wondering what her preference is. A moment of irrational nervousness passes and he decides on taking them off and placing them by the door.

He has just enough time to return to the couch and glance over the magazines on her coffee table before he hears her footsteps nearing.

"Sorry, I had to get out of that blouse," she emerges donning yoga pants and a Georgetown sweatshirt.

"No problem, " he tries hard not to look her once over but does so anyway. She looks adorable, the soft curls previously framing her face pulled back in a loose ponytail.

She grabs the remote off of the coffee table and sits next to him. He immediately moves his arm around her, allowing her to lay her head on his shoulder.

"I hope you were able to make yourself comfortable."

"If I wasn't before, I definitely am now." He presses a kiss to her forehead. She turns and looks up at him, her nose crinkled.

"That was corny."

"I think the word you're looking for is _suave_."

"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, mister."

She returns to her previous position and turns on the TV.

"Now, what do you want to watch?"

"I believe I was promised _Game of Thrones_."

"Hmm handsome and good taste. I may have to keep you around for a while."

He chuckles and relaxes further into the couch, prompting her to do the same. He leans in close to her ear.

"You better."

* * *

He wakes up with the weight of something on his chest. It takes him a moment to remember where he is and to realize that it isn't something, but rather, _someone_.

His hands smooth over her back, and she stirs for a moment before settling again. Her face is pressed against his neck, and the feeling of her evened breaths hitting his skin sends a chill up his spine.

He looks down and takes her in. She is so beautiful in that moment. He has the sudden urge to see her like this - perfectly relaxed and vulnerable in her slumber - every day of his life. He removes the few strands of hair that have fallen in her face and smiles at the way her nose scrunches up at the contact.

He vaguely remembers them both falling in and out of sleep after the second episode. He can't recall how they ended up in this exact position, but one glance at the clock on her coffee table tells him that they've been there for at least an hour and a half.

He takes a deep breath and lets his head fall back against the couch's arm. He knows that they have to get up at some point and that he needs to go get his car, but having her in his arms like this feels so good - _too_ _good_.

He stays still for a moment more, taking her in again.

 _If he could stay here forever…_

"Livvie," he whispers in her ear. She doesn't move, and he tries again. This time, she begins to stir and turns her head.

"Livvie, Sweetheart, wake up, " he urges.

Her eyes flutter open, meeting his, and his breath hitches. The look of confusion on her face quickly fades into one of recognition, one of affection.

"Hi."

" _Hi_."

She lifts her head and rests her chin on his chest.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep."

He pushes back strands that have fallen into her face again.

"You and I both."

She suddenly gasps softly and sits up.

"I have to get you back over to the restaurant so you can get your car. What time are you supposed to be going in?"

He gently pulls her back down. He decides right then and there that he has no desire of moving any time soon. A smile tugs at his lips.

"I'm actually taking the day off, so it's no problem. I just have to call and let them know in about - " he glances at the clock " - three hours."

"Oh, ok." She relaxes.

She lies back down on his chest, her hand coming up to rest on his cheek.

"You make a great pillow, Grant."

He turns his head and presses a kiss to her palm.

"So I've been told."

"Hmm, and by whom, exactly?"

He chuckles softly, "You know, people."

"Well," she suddenly sits up and moves so that she is straddling him, her arms using his chest for support. "I hope not too many people in the past few weeks." She smirks.

"No, I think," he stops, pretending to think it over, "I think it's only been you."

She laughs and slaps his chest lightly.

"Against my better judgment, I'll take your word for it." She leans down so that her lips are ghosting over his. "Because I really like the idea of having you to myself."

Despite the innocence of the conversation's nature, he feels his heart start to race. He's wanted her to be his - for _him_ to be _hers_ \- since he laid eyes on her and he can't help but wonder if the moment has come. He clears his throat and looks from her lips to her eyes.

In an instant, he knows that the moment has, indeed, come. She looks as simultaneously hopeful and determined as he feels. He strokes her back and whispers after a moment,

"I really like the idea of that too."

By now, she's lying against him - chest to chest - and, as he sits up, her arms wrap around his neck and her legs around his waist.

"So, are we in agreement?"

"I think so," he can't help himself and pecks her lips, "I won't let anyone else use me as a pillow. I'm all yours."

She grins. "Good. And I guess that makes me all yours."

"Good. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Their eyes stay locked on one another's, and a moment passes before the mood shifts completely. All playfulness is suddenly gone, replaced by tension so tangible that even the air feels charged.

His lips are on hers in an instant. His heart is pounding, his head spinning - his entire body is screaming out, rejoicing over how perfect it feels to be so close to her. He lies back down, holding her to him. He groans when he feels her hand slide under his shirt, running over his abdomen. His own hands soon slip under her shirt, caressing her back. He feels her smile against his lips and quickly finds himself doing the same.

He can't recall a time when he's felt so content. The thought makes his heart ache in the best way. It's too much, it's too soon - but, he needs her, desperately, in whatever capacity she's willing to give.

They're caught up, holding tightly to one another - all soft breaths and gasps and groans - until a loud sound rings out from the television.

They both jump, quickly pulling apart in shock. They turn and see that the volume is increasing, quickly approaching its maximum.

He's suddenly aware of something hard pressing into his back. He reaches underneath him, only to find that he was resting on the remote. He holds it up with a sheepish grin, showing it to her. She begins to laugh, and he soon joins her.

"We have the worst luck."

"True," she takes the remote and turns off the TV before tossing it to the side. "But that was probably a good thing."

He hopes that his disappointment doesn't show at her words. He looks away, wondering ashamedly if he mistook his own lust for something deeper.

She promptly grabs his chin, making him look back at her. The look in her eyes tells him that she felt it just the same, that there is something between them.

" _Because_ we have to get up early if I'm going to treat you to breakfast."

His eyebrows rise in surprise and he grins, "Assuming that I'll spend the night? How presumptuous of you."

She rolls her eyes with a laugh.

They stare at each other for a long moment. She moves so that they're lying much like they were when they woke up, and he feels her gently press a kiss to his chest.

"Goodnight, Fitz."

He kisses her forehead and wraps his arms around her tightly.

"Goodnight, Livvie."


	3. To Mister, With Love

**Author's Note: Once again, thank you so so much to all who read and reviewed. I really do appreciate the feedback and thank you from the bottom of my heart. Things are starting to get hectic (college orientation week is here, wish me luck! I'll certainly need it haha), but I am going to try to post as frequently as possible.**

 **Quick Update: Evening Delights part 3 is still a work in progress, but it is coming, and I also wanted to point out that the rating has been changed to M and will be from this point onward.**

 **I hope you enjoy, and, as always, criticism, suggestions and requests are always welcomed.**

* * *

 _Because good things do happen unexpectedly._

 _xxx_

"Alright guys, so for the weekend I want you to-"

Fitz was cut off by the bell, his students starting to rush out of the room before he could even yell after them.

"See you on Monday, Mr. Grant!"

"Yeah, yeah." He waved them out, leaning back in his seat.

He listened to the sound of feet shuffling - a sea of penny loafers dragging against the floor - and lockers hastily being shut. He rubbed his eyes, trying to rid them of the week's exhaustion. He hadn't realized how tired he was, and he suddenly found himself sharing sentiments with his students; he couldn't wait to get home. He had a big weekend of nothing planned and the idea sounded more appealing by the second.

He'd just wait until the halls cleared out and then –

He looked up at a knock on his door.

His eyebrows rose at the sight of the head of the French department.

"Dominic, what can I do for you?"

Dominic walked inside and sat in a desk in the front row. He folded his hands and leaned forward, a smile laden with hidden motives stretched across his face.

"How have you been, Fitz?" He spoke, his accent laced throughout his words.

"I've been well, Dominic. But I assume you're not here to exchange pleasantries, so what can I do for you?"

Dominic chuckled, leaning back in his seat.

"Always so quick to get to the point."

They sat in silence, and Fitz looked at him expectantly.

"Well, I guess I should get right to it." He tapped his fingers on the desk and looked away. "Maya and I, we…need a favor."

Fitz shifted in his seat, glaring at the man's profile.

"What kind of a favor?"

Dominic turned to face him, his hands wringing together. "Something came up and we're going to be out of town for the weekend, but her daughter is coming. She was out of the states for a while and is going to stay with us while she gets settled – at least we think she is. She's a bit of a wild card, she has a tendency to drift…" He trailed off. "We just need someone to pick her up from the airport."

"Which is where I come in?"

"Exactly."

Fitz looked down at his desk, pretending to look over the papers scattered across it.

"And your wife doesn't think that I'm too unqualified for that?"

Dominic rolled his eyes. "How long are you going to keep this up? Come on, you know that's not what she meant."

"No, Dominic, that's exactly what she meant when she petitioned to have me removed from the head of the History department."

The topic was still a sore spot. It had been nearly three months since Maya Lewis-Bell had been promoted to the school's interim principle after a particularly hasty departure by the position's former holder, Marion Walden. Rumor had it that she had been impregnated by her brother-in-law and longtime lover, and the two had fled to the mid-west. The last he had heard, her husband was hounding teachers she was known to associate with about her possible whereabouts.

The sudden vacancy sparked meetings that ultimately led to Maya's appointment. Not only was she one of the most astute and experienced teachers at the ever-renowned Avery Academy, but she also was only teaching two select senior courses - which made her perfect for such a demanding position.

Though she had only been appointed on a temporary basis, Maya took it upon herself to make what she viewed as "necessary changes". Unfortunately, one such change was the removal of Fitz as the head of the History department. He had only held the position for the past two years, and he appreciated the respect it garnered him among his colleagues. Sure, he had been a little distracted lately – he had buried his mother and finalized his divorce in the past year alone – but he had earned that position.

Apparently, not everyone thought so. The vote was not in his favor, and he was thenceforth removed – only to be replaced by someone who was three years his junior and not nearly as qualified.

He had once considered Dominic a friend – or at least one of his closest colleagues. They played poker together and invited one another over for dinner on several occasions. But he had barely acknowledged him – or his wife – since the incident.

He had been in a bad mood ever since. He noticed the way his coworkers watched him when they thought he wasn't looking – the way they whispered and raised their eyebrows. He had never in life felt so underappreciated, so disrespected…

"Look, I don't know how many times you want me to say sorry, but she thought that it was in your best interest –"

"Not my best interest, Dominic, hers."

"That's not true and you know it. You've had a lot on your plate lately and she was trying to help."

"Whether or not I need help is none of her business."

"Ok, fine. How about, you were failing to live up to your responsibilities and you needed to take a step back."

Fitz had half the mind to throw him out, but he was aware of the students still lingering in the hallways and decided to at least try to be civil. He took a deep breath and rubbed his temples.

"Look, Fitz, I didn't mean that. It's just –"

"What time does her flight get in?"

Fitz opened his eyes just in time to see Dominic's eyebrows scrunch together in confusion.

"What?"

"Her daughter. What time does she get in?"

Dominic's features softened, a mix of disbelief and gratitude lighting up his face.

"Uh, tomorrow evening, six-thirty."

"Dulles?"

"Yes."

"Ok." Fitz finished placing papers in folders before putting them in his bag.

"Ok?"

Fitz stood, walking over to the door with his bag hanging on his shoulder.

"I'll be there."

* * *

Standing in the middle of the airport, Fitz wondered why he had said yes. He assured himself that it was because he needed to get Dominic out of his classroom without causing a scene.

He glanced at his phone, looking over the picture Dominic had sent to help him recognize Maya's daughter. According to Dominic, the picture was a few years old - as was made obvious by his and Maya's appearances. They stood next to each other, wide smiles gracing their faces, while attached to Maya's left side was her mini-me.

She was cute. She looked as though she couldn't have been older than fourteen when the picture was taken. Thick glasses framed her face and her hair was pulled up in a curly bun. Whereas Maya and Dominic seemed to fit together naturally, she stood – almost awkwardly – to the side, like she didn't entirely belong. The smile on her face seemed much more forced than that of her mother.

Dominic hadn't mentioned what he and Maya were going to be doing for the weekend, but he suddenly thought it odd that they weren't making it more of a priority to see her daughter, given that they so rarely did.

He thought it over for a moment before deciding that it was none of his business. He was there to do them a favor and then return home to his couch and perhaps a date with the Food Network.

He started to look around again when a particularly large group began to move from the baggage claim area. He quickly glanced at and dismissed a handful of faces before he was distracted by the sound of a suitcase colliding heavily with the floor. He looked to his right to see a woman examining her suitcase. She bent over and retrieved what looked like one of its wheels. He watched her shoulders sag as she looked over the broken piece. Completely oblivious to his gaze, she laughed to herself and shook her head.

The sight filled him with unnatural endearment and he couldn't help but observe her. She leaned her suitcase against her leg and placed the broken wheel on top of it. Her hands moved seamlessly to undo and redo the bun sitting atop her head, catching the loose coils and curls that had fallen out during her flight. She shoved the wheel in the pocket of her sweatpants and pushed down the handle of her suitcase before picking it up. She began walking again, her gaze starting to scan the entire area.

Suddenly it dawned on him.

He quickly looked down at the picture and back up at her.

 _Wow._

She had certainly grown up. He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes taking in her features. It wasn't until a minute had passed that he remembered that she was Maya's daughter, and, while she was legal, she was too young for him to be thinking of her the way he was.

 _Get it together, Fitz._

He started to approach her, then stopped, suddenly realizing that he didn't even know her name. He glanced at his phone remembering that Dominic had attached a message to the picture:

 _ **Her flight is scheduled to come it at 6:30. She'll meet you just outside the baggage claim. Her name is Olivia.**_

He continued to make his way over to her. She looked up when he was a few feet away, and their eyes met.

His breath hitched.

He was overcome by an unexpected rush of affection. Lost in dark, doe eyes, he was enveloped in a warmth he hadn't felt in so long – a comforting blend of heat and tranquility he had once associated with summer nights spent on the porch with his mother.

When she suddenly took a step back, he realized he must have looked ridiculous.

"Hi?"

"Oh, hi. I'm sorry." He noticed that his palms were sweaty and rubbed his hand on his pants before holding it out. "I'm Fitz."

She shook his hand, wary confusion settling on her face.

"Olivia. Can I help you?"

"Oh, I – uh." The handshake ended awkwardly when his hand suddenly retreated. He cleared his throat. "I'm one of Dominic's coworkers. He asked me to pick you up."

She raised her eyebrows.

Confused by her reaction, he asked, "Didn't he tell you?"

"No, I thought – I mean, I assumed that my mother was going to meet me here."

"Something came up, but they should be back by Monday."

"Oh, ok." She looked away for a moment before returning her gaze to him. "Uh, Fitz you said?"

He nodded.

"Would you mind helping me out with this?" She gestured to her suitcase. "A wheel just popped off and it's a little heavy…"

"Oh yeah, sure." He grabbed it before she could finish speaking.

She smiled appreciatively. They remained in place for a long moment before he cleared his throat.

"They said there's a storm coming tonight. I better get you home before then." He started walking towards the exit.

She followed behind. He could feel her eyes on him and desperately tried to ignore the way it made his heart race.

"Rain on my first night? Must mean good luck."

He chuckled at her optimism. They walked the rest of the way to his car in silence. He was grateful, as it gave him the opportunity to shake himself of the haze that had fallen over him.

* * *

"So, Fitz, what do you teach?"

"Huh?"

He had been driving for just over fifteen minutes, and they had yet to start up a conversation. After he had loaded her suitcase into his car, they were on their way, only the sounds of his Frank Sinatra CDs filling the silence.

"You said you were a coworker of Dominic's, which I guess makes you one of my mother's, too, so what do you teach?"

He glanced at her for a second. "History."

He could see her nodding from the corner of his eye.

"Are you one of those fun teachers? Or are you the type to read from the book and bore everyone to death?"

He knew that she didn't mean any harm; he could hear the jest in her voice, but as had happened so often during the past few weeks, when it came to his job, his pride quickly got the best of him.

"I give them the material I'm required to." His tone was clipped. "Whether they pass or fail is up to them – it's not a reflection of my abilities."

She was silent for a long time, and he could feel her gaze on him. He immediately felt bad for having reacted the way he did.

"Look, I'm sorry –"

"That's bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

He eased to a stop at a red light and looked at her.

"Whether they pass or fail is a reflection of your abilities. Sometimes just giving them the material isn't enough."

He felt a sudden anger rise in him.

 _Who the hell did she think she was?_

"Oh and I suppose that you're the expert on this matter because, what? You spent the last few months running around Europe spending someone else's money? Taking time to find yourself or some other crap like that?"

She laughed humorlessly. "You have no idea what the fuck you're talking about, Fitzpatrick."

"It's Fitzgerald."

She hummed dismissively and looked straight ahead.

"Light's green."

They rode in tense silence, a fierce indignation lingering in the air. He unintentionally glanced her way a few times. Her arms were crossed and she had shifted in her seat so that she was closer to the passenger door.

Minutes later, he stopped at another red light and turned to her.

"Look," he spoke, feeling much less defensive than he had before, "I'm sorry. I had no right to say those things. I know almost nothing about you and it wasn't right for me to judge or make assumptions."

She looked out the window, leaving him with a sense of defeat.

A long moment passed before she turned to him.

"For starters, my name is Olivia Pope, I'm twenty-three, and I just got back from teaching in the Solomon Islands. There was no spending other people's money and no backpacking across Europe."

He could tell that the surprise was written across his face.

Only when a loud car horn blared from behind him did he turn away from her.

"That's why I asked you about your teaching," she continued. "No malicious intent, I promise. I'm sorry if I offended you."

He felt like a jackass – a complete and utter jackass.

"I'm sorry, Olivia, really." He turned on his windshield wipers as the rain started to pick up. "It's just that things have been kind of hectic and I haven't been doing my best at work lately. It's just not something I like to talk about." He didn't exactly know why he had shared so much. He knew he could have stuck with a simple apology, given that he would probably never see her again after dropping her off, but, for whatever reason, he felt like she deserved more than that.

They both jumped at a sudden clap of thunder.

"I accept your apology," she finally spoke. "And, you know, everyone gets a little overwhelmed. Sometimes you just have to take a step back, maybe talk to someone about it."

Touched by the unexpected concern in her voice, he nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

He pulled up to Maya and Dominic's home less than fifteen minutes later. By then, the weather had worsened considerably. He had switched to the news on his car radio to hear warnings of severe weather and flash floods, and he was growing increasingly nervous at the prospect of even getting home that night.

Olivia ushered him inside after having used the key hidden behind the mailbox. He braced himself against the rain and quickly ran in, leaning her suitcase against a wall.

"Thank you so much, Fitz." She closed the door immediately after him, turning and leaning against it.

They were both soaked, and he couldn't help but notice the way her tank top stuck to her. He quickly shook his head at the thought and watched as she re-did her bun for the second time that day.

There was a flash of lightening followed by an immediate burst of thunder, and she shivered.

"Maybe you should stay here for a while and try to wait it out."

Even if he wanted to decline, the sound of the rain picking up told him that there was no way he was going anywhere any time soon.

"Sounds like a plan."

She nodded and walked further into the house. She stopped and removed her shoes, placing them on the mat in front of the door to let them dry. He did the same and watched as her eyes began to scan the walls, as if seeing them for the first time. She walked into the living room, moving toward the pictures over the fireplace. She took her time looking over each one, and he found himself gravitating toward her. He glanced over the pictures, noticing that she wasn't in a single one.

"She's always smiling around him," she commented, picking up one of the frames. "I'm glad he makes her happy."

He noted the longing in her voice.

Just as he was going to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, she placed the picture back in its place and turned around to face him.

"We should get changed so we don't get sick. Dominic probably has some clothes you can wear…" She walked to the bottom of the stairs. "I'll be back."

Several minutes passed before she came back downstairs, a pair of sweats and a t-shirt in her hands.

"Here, these look like they'll fit you." She looked him over, and he noticed the appraisal in her eyes as they seemed to linger for a moment too long.

He cleared his throat and she immediately looked back up. Her eyes met his for a split second before she was looking elsewhere, shifting her balance onto her left foot.

"Do you – uh – know where the bathroom is?"

He smirked at her sudden bashfulness.

"Yeah, thanks." He accepted the clothes and started to walk away.

"There should be some towels in the cabinets. I think…" She called after him.

He turned, giving her an appreciative smile.

Just as she had said, there were towels in the cabinets. He quickly stripped himself of his wet clothes and dried off before throwing on the clothes she had given him. The shirt clung to him a little more than he would have liked, but that was a given, considering that he and Dominic weren't exactly the same size. He walked out of the bathroom minutes later and returned to where he had left Olivia. He noticed that both she and her suitcase were gone and assumed that she had gone to change.

Left to his own devices, he began to walk around again. He took in little changes they had made since his last visit – a new vase here, a few throw pillows there - but what now stood out most were the pictures scattered throughout the house. As far as he could tell, they hadn't been changed – at least in the few years he had known the couple. Many were of them cuddled together in various locations they had visited. There were a few of whom he remembered Dominic had pointed out as his nieces, and even a few with colleagues. But he didn't see a single one of Olivia. Not one lined the walls, or sat on the coffee table or rested over the fireplace.

He wondered why that was.

As he finished the rounds, he heard her coming down the stairs. He met her at the bottom step and took in the sight of her in a t-shirt and rolled-up gym shorts that looked too big to be hers. He felt an irrational pang of jealousy at the thought of who they could have previously belonged to.

She looked him over and smiled sympathetically. "Sorry, that was the biggest shirt I could find."

He shook his head. "It's alright. Thanks."

She nodded. "I'm about to put my clothes in the wash. Do you want me to throw yours in too?"

He thought it over, taking into consideration that he'd probably be there for a while.

"Yeah, if you don't mind."

She took his clothes and the towel from him and began to walk off in one direction, then stopped, seeming to think. He watched her look around before realizing what the problem was.

"I think the laundry room is this way." He started walking in the other direction, and she followed.

"It's funny," she laughed from behind him, "I don't even know where half the things are in my own mother's house." Although she spoke jokingly, he could hear the sadness in her voice. "I guess it's because I've only been here once or twice since they moved in."

His eyebrows rose. He knew that Maya and Dominic had lived in this house for at least ten years.

Neither said anything as they walked into the laundry room. He watched as she put the clothes in and filled the cap with detergent.

She turned to him, "Do you mind if I use fabric softener?"

He thought the question odd and gave a slight chuckle in response. "No, it's ok. The softer the better."

She giggled and shook her head. "It's just that I haven't gotten to use it in a while, but I know that some people are picky when it comes to their laundry so…"

He held up his hands. "No preference here."

They shared a laugh and she closed the washing machine, pressing a few buttons to start the load. He considered what she said and suddenly remembered their conversation in the car.

"So the Solomon Islands," he began as she led the way out of the laundry room, "How was it? What brought you there?"

She stopped walking and turned to look at him; a bright smile spread across her face, and his stomach flipped.

"I was working on my senior thesis – it had to do with different schooling experiences and their effects on the student's growth – and I came across this piece about the Solomon Islands. It reminded me of when I was in high school. Every few months they'd have a presentation and ask us to donate to this or that cause and one of the projects was aimed at getting resources for some of the schools over there. I ended up making a few phone calls and speaking to the program's director. One thing led to another, and the next thing I knew, I was graduating and heading over there."

He watched the way her eyes lit up as she talked, and it stirred an excitement deep within him.

"It was the most amazing experience." She walked them to the living room, sitting down on the couch and urging him to do the same. "A group of us went over together. At first, we spent a lot of time observing and helping to get the classrooms together. Then, we each started teaching certain lessons. The kids were all so sweet and so eager, and they always kicked my ass in soccer," she chuckled. "There was just something so incredible about feeling like I was part of that community. I know it's cliché to say, but they gave me way more than I could ever give them."

"That sounds…amazing." He was impressed by her ambition. Her eagerness reminded him of what he was like when he had first started teaching. It had been so long since he had felt that way…

"What about you, Mr. History Teacher?"

He chuckled dismissively and looked away, not sure if he was ready to broach that topic again. "What about me?"

"Any post-college, pre-Avery experiences? Did _you_ travel Europe spending someone else's money?"

His cheeks heated up and he shook his head with a laugh. "No, no just a few unpleasant substitute jobs." He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Yeah, I got offered the job at Avery pretty quickly. I figured it was a great opportunity, couldn't really do better than that."

She stared at him for a moment, then looked down, playing with the hem of her shirt.

"What?"

She looked up. "It's just –" she stopped and shook her head. "It's nothing."

"That's bullshit," he mimicked from their earlier conversation, making his voice higher to imitate hers.

She laughed hard, throwing her head back. "Alright, I'll give you that one."

He joined her in laughing.

"So," he started after they had calmed, "does that mean you're going to tell me what you were thinking about?"

She shifted so that she was facing him.

"Why are you still there?"

He looked at her questioningly. "Where?"

"Avery. You said yourself that you were having a tough time and you just don't seem happy being there…"

"Oh." He looked away from her. He wasn't sure how to respond. He knew that he had made his displeasure obvious, but he hadn't expected her to directly address it. He had yet to truly address it with himself. He cleared his throat. "It's one of the top private schools in the country, the pay is good –"

"But is that really why you wanted to teach?"

He stared at her. He was very quickly becoming unnerved by her candor.

"I had this teacher my junior year of high school," he started before he could stop himself. "That was the year after my father had left and my mom was in a bad place. I didn't have too much support at home. Mr. Reynolds – that was his name – he was the closest thing I had to a mentor. He'd always make sure I made the grades and even invited me over for dinner a few times. He's the reason I even got into college. I knew the second I got accepted that I wanted to do that for someone else."

He had never told anyone that before. It had been so long since he had taught with that in mind that he nearly forgot about it, himself.

He was suddenly overcome with the feeling of shame.

He looked down at his hands. "I just don't feel like I've done that. I've been teaching for nearly a decade, and I don't feel like I've helped anyone the way he helped me. I'm thirty-seven and all I have to show for my life is a failed marriage and a nice condo. The only thing I really had going for me was being the head of the History department, but I can't even claim that anymore."

He felt her move closer, and, soon, her hand was on his arm.

"If it's any consolation, you look way younger than thirty-seven."

He chuckled sadly and looked up at her. She smiled softly as his gaze met hers and brought her hands down to hold his.

"Do you want to know what I think?" She asked after a moment.

Moved by something a little stronger than curiosity, he nodded.

"I think that you've had more of an impact than you think. But…" she trailed off, seeming to consider her next words. "You have to stop feeling sorry for yourself."

 _Ok, not exactly what he expected._

His eyebrows rose.

She breathed out a laugh. "You said it yourself, you're not satisfied with what you've done in life. Sitting around and sulking isn't going to change that. Try connecting with your students more, rework your lesson plans, take up a hobby – do _something_ different. Although it may feel like it, you aren't stuck in cement. You have the freedom to do with your life whatever you want."

He stared at her.

"What?"

"Are you sure you're twenty-three? Because you're way more insightful than I was at that age…"

She smirked. "It's a known fact that girls mature faster."

He chuckled and shook his head. "You are right, though. I do need to stop feeling sorry for myself."

Now that he had said it out loud, it seemed so simple. He had spent months wallowing in self-pity, lamenting over his misfortunes. He had always been a believer in controlling his own destiny, yet here he was, letting life knock him on his ass.

"You know," he spoke, "A few years ago, I wanted to get my master's in education. I wanted to move up, maybe work on an administrative level, but my mom got sick and my marriage was starting to fall apart, and it just didn't seem possible."

"But now?" She asked.

"Now… it feels like something I could do – something I really want to do."

He unconsciously shifted back, causing her grip on his hands to loosen. He had known this woman for less than a few hours, and she was unearthing some of his deepest revelations – truths he hadn't even come to terms with.

He needed space.

The look on her face as he settled with nearly a foot of space between them made him feel differently. She looked disappointed – hurt at the loss of contact. The sight pained him and made his heart sink down to his stomach.

"I'm sorry." He stood abruptly, needing more distance to get his thoughts together. "It's just that I haven't thought of that in a long time, and it's a little -"

"Overwhelming." she finished for him.

He ran a hand over his face.

He hadn't considered going back to school in so long. The thought had been buried somewhere deep in his subconscious, and she had just come along and so easily brought it to the surface, made it seem plausible…

He could actually do it. He _wanted_ to do it, more than anything else.

"Fitz," she called out, pulling him from his thoughts. "I didn't mean to upset you, but if it's something you really want to do, maybe it's a sign. Maybe that's your something different."

 _Was that really his next step? Going back to school at thirty-seven?_

Looking back down at her, a foreign excitement surged through his veins. She was encouraging him to follow his dormant dreams the way he had always wished his wife would, the way his mother would have.

 _Was he foolish for considering her with such seriousness?_

He couldn't help but wonder if he was affected by her youthful naiveté. But, taking her in, he knew that there was nothing naïve about her insight. She had a natural maturity that came only with experience.

He sat down next to her, closer than he had been before. "I'm going to seriously consider it," he finally spoke. Overcome with gratitude and a strong sense of affection, he placed a hand on her cheek. "Thank you, Olivia."

She smiled warmly. "Don't mention it."

His heart swelled, and, before he knew what was happening, he was leaning in. He stopped just as his lips ghosted over hers. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if this was wrong – he barely knew her, she was Maya's daughter, Dominic's stepdaughter…

As she finally leaned in ever so slightly, his only thoughts were those of how soft her lips were, how amazing they felt against his.

It was over quickly – too quickly – as they both pulled back, their eyes slightly wide and disbelieving.

"I'm sorry –"

"I shouldn't have –"

They both laughed, a nervous energy settling around them.

His heart was hammering in his chest and his lips were ablaze with yearning. He rubbed his hands on his sweatpants and quickly clenched and unclenched his fists, hoping to calm himself down.

There was an obvious attraction between them, but the last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable.

A particularly loud boom of thunder sounded, bursting through the thick air in the room.

She cleared her throat. "We're lucky we haven't lost power."

"Yeah, it's pretty bad out there."

He stopped himself from mentioning that he'd probably be there for a few more hours.

They sat in silence before she suddenly clasped her hands together.

"I should probably go put our clothes in the dryer."

She stood and walked out of the room. By the time she returned, the tension between them had dispersed.

"Maybe we can watch a movie or something, to pass the time," she suggested as she rejoined him on the couch.

He nodded and leaned forward, grabbing the remote from the coffee table.

"Any requests?" He asked after he had pulled up the movie selection.

"Anything but that Nicholas Sparks movie – the one with the rodeo guy. They played it on a loop the entire plane ride. I can probably recite the entire thing from memory." She groaned dramatically.

He chuckled. "I remember a few girls in one of my classes talking about it. They seemed to think it was the greatest film since _Citizen Kane_."

Laughing, she rolled her eyes.

He continued to scroll until she suddenly grabbed his arm.

"Wait! Let's watch that."

His eyes narrowed. "…Cinderella?"

" _Live action_ Cinderella." She corrected.

He laughed with a shake of his head.

"And here I thought we had ruled out chick-flicks."

He could feel her glaring at his profile.

"It's a fairytale, for starters, and we only ruled out one movie."

He sighed dramatically. "And why should we watch it?"

"Because you were being grumpy earlier, so I should get to choose – by default." She stuck out her tongue and he couldn't help the loud laugh that escaped him.

"I guess you make a fair argument."

She smiled in triumph as he put the movie on.

Minutes passed and they both settled into the couch, unconsciously moving toward one another. His attention span didn't allow him to watch longer than the first twenty minutes, and he turned to look at her. He was admittedly surprised by how rapt she was with the movie.

As if reading his thoughts, she began speaking, never turning her head away from the screen.

"When I was younger, my dad didn't want me reading anything actually intended for children. He said I'd be doing myself a disservice. This was the only children's book we had in the house. I would read it all the time…"

He frowned. What type of father didn't let his daughter read fairytales?

They continued to watch, making it halfway through the film when their luck ran out. A strong gust of wind and flash of lightening immediately preceded the power going out, and they both groaned.

"I definitely jinxed us." Olivia felt around for her phone, turning on its flashlight once she found it.

Fitz did the same. "That you did." He chuckled.

They both moved their phones to the coffee table, the light emanating from them enough to dimly illuminate the room.

"Well," she shrugged, "I've got nothing."

He smiled. "That makes two of us. I normally get out my flashlight and grade papers when the power's out."

She laughed and leaned into him, her head falling on his shoulder. It felt so natural – so normal that neither seemed to notice.

"I don't blame you, using boredom as motivation usually works."

He moved his arm so that it was around her shoulders, pulling her closer. It was more comfortable that way – at least that was what he told himself.

A calm quiet settled over them.

"Can I ask you something?" He questioned minutes later.

She nodded against his shoulder. "I think it's only fair."

"Why aren't there any pictures of you?"

She tensed and he cursed himself for ruining the moment.

 _Why couldn't he mind his own business?_

After a moment, she spoke, much to his surprise, "When my parents separated, they were both opposed to joint custody, so they let me decide who I wanted to stay with." She sighed, "Everyone expected me to choose my mom, my dad was… tough, more of an authoritarian, and she was the school teacher who knew how to deal with children. They were both shocked when I chose him. She was upset, and by the looks of it, still is."

She was quiet for a moment before starting again, "She didn't think I did, but I knew that she and Dominic were having an affair. And when she introduced me to him, I just… felt like I didn't belong with them – like they had this whole other life and I'd always be the outsider. I've never told her because I didn't want to make her feel bad. It's why I've rarely ever visited and never stay for long…"

He briefly recalled Dominic's comment about her tendency to wander.

"Do you ever regret your decision?"

She took a moment to think about it. "I've never admitted it before, but had you asked me a few years ago, I probably would have said yes. My dad, he tried his best – I really believe that. But I think I was a constant reminder of what he saw to be his biggest failure. He was tough on me when it came to school and work, but pretty much absent any time else."

He stroked her shoulder with his thumb.

It wasn't lost on him that their roles had so seamlessly shifted from just an hour ago. Here he was coaxing her innermost thoughts from her, just as she had done for him.

"What about now?"

"Now, I take the experience for what it was. My dad pushed me, but in the end I was accepted into some great schools. I learned to be more independent and to value my own company. It taught me to approach life differently – more take charge, and more for myself."

He considered what she said, her earlier words to him starting to make sense.

"So what do you plan on doing now, what's your next move?"

She was quiet for a long moment. "I think for right now, I'll just go wherever the wind blows. I really want to get out there, you know – like you – I want to make a difference."

"My dad and I," she continued hesitantly, "we got into this huge argument before I left. He was royally pissed when I decided not to go to law school and nearly exploded when I told him my plans, so now seemed like a good time to reach out to my mother. I'd like to have a relationship with at least one of my parents before I go full-on m.i.a." She laughed tiredly. "I thought that we'd finally get a chance to clear the air. But it seems like she's not ready for that…"

"Well, you never know what could happen when she gets home on Monday," he offered, looking down at her.

Even in the dim light, he could see the doubt written across her face.

"Hey." He placed his hand under her chin, lifting her head so that she was looking at him. "If she's not ready to move forward, it's her loss."

She smiled at his words. "Thank you, Fitz."

He grinned. "Don't mention it."

He held her gaze. There was that feeling again – a distinct attraction pulling him to her. His heart beat wildly.

His lips descended onto hers without hesitation. This time, neither pulled away. His body heated at the sweet sensation of her lips on his, and his ears burned as her hands moved to hold the sides of his face.

Strong desire captured them both, a sudden urgency filling the space between them.

Their tongues soon swept across one another's, and she shifted so that she was straddling his lap. One of his hands moved to the back of her neck, while the other rested on her back, pushing her further into him.

She began to rock ever so slightly. He groaned into her mouth. He could feel himself quickly growing aroused, and his hips started to rise to meet hers. She whimpered and his stomach tightened at the sound.

He suddenly flipped them over, maneuvering so that she was lying under him on the couch – all the while fervently kissing a trail to her neck.

" _Fitz_ ," she breathed. He reined himself in, quickly stopping his movements to see if she was ok.

 _Had he gone too far?_

His question was answered as she brought her hand to the back of his head, urging him to continue. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. Spurred by her satisfied sighs, he pressed his lips against a particularly sensitive spot on her neck.

He needed more – they both did.

He vaguely registered her hand guiding his – under her shirt, over the expanse of her toned stomach…

 _Was that a navel piercing?_

He nipped at her neck and growled when she moved his hand lower. His head shot up so that his eyes could meet hers for assurance. She was biting down on her lip and her eyes were dark with lust.

 _So beautiful…_

It had been so long and he didn't think he had ever experienced such a strong pull to someone. He was more aroused than he could ever remember being, and, as she moved his hand under the waistband of her shorts – her eyes locked on his – he was sure he would burst.

Without another barrier, he came into contact with her wet heat sooner than expected and groaned appreciatively.

" _Oh_."

"Livvie…" it rolled off of his tongue so easily. She seemed to approve, sighing contently at the nickname.

His lips found hers once more as his fingers teased her warmth. She gasped when he slid one finger in – moaned when he slid in a second. She bit down on his bottom lip and he groaned with pleasure at the sting.

He found a steady rhythm, her hips rising to meet his fingers, when suddenly, her hand slid into his sweatpants. Her hand was soon on his member, and they both moaned as his forehead rested against hers.

He had already been painfully hard, and the warmth of her hand wrapped around him was enough to almost send him over the edge immediately. He didn't want that. He wanted to be with her, to be in her – but reality slipped through his haze just long enough for him to remember that he didn't have protection.

Regardless of not actually being inside her, he needed her to finish first. He quickened his movements, using his thumb to stroke her, and her head fell back – a string of moans falling from her lips.

"Fitz, _please_."

She followed his lead, moving her hands adeptly. Their movements together were just enough to –

"Oh my – _yes._ "

"Shit, Livvie."

She arrived with a soft gasp, bringing him right along with her. He captured her lips with his for a final time, desperately needing the closeness.

 _Had that really just happened?_

He had never experienced anything quite like it – a moment of sudden passion spurred on by needs more tender than just primal lust…

They finally calmed, deep breaths piercing the surrounding silence.

Their eyes met, widening with the realization of what had happened, and then softening with the acceptance that the moment was bigger than either of them.

As if timed perfectly, the lights flickered for a moment before turning back on.

He was immediately struck by how beautiful she looked. She was practically glowing in the aftermath of their – _whatever that had been._ And he couldn't help but wonder what it'd be like to see her in that state every day of his life. He shifted so that he was not resting all of his weight on her and looked anywhere but at her, unsure of what to say.

Olivia was silent for a moment, and then, "I can certainly say that I've never done _that_ during a power outage."

Fitz laughed, hard, and she soon joined.

"We should…get cleaned up," he suggested after they had calmed.

She stood up. "I think our clothes should have dried before the power went out, I'll bring your clothes to the bathroom." She looked him over. "Although, I think you should keep that stuff."

He grimaced at the thought of returning the clothes. "Yeah, I think I will."

* * *

As promised, Olivia knocked on the bathroom door several minutes later holding his clothes. She had already changed into another t-shirt and pair of shorts.

"I think the worst of it's passed, if you wanted to go home…" she said as she handed over the clothes.

He thought it over, a sense of dread filling him at the thought of leaving her.

"Would you mind if I stayed here for the night. It's kinda late and –"

"No, that's completely fine." She smiled.

He nodded, relieved.

He rejoined her in the living room several minutes later. The coffee table had been removed, and the couch was pulled out to reveal a makeshift bed.

"Here." She tossed him a pillow.

"Thanks." He caught it and sat on the bed. He watched as she folded a head scarf before tying it around her head. He wanted to ask if she would be spending the night with him or in the room that had been set aside as hers. But, fearing how the question would come across, he chose to remain silent.

Much to his delight, she turned off the lights before pulling back the sheets and lying down beside him. He quickly joined her under the covers.

"I hope you don't mind." She lay her head on his chest, wrapping her arm around his middle.

He smiled, pulling her into him. "Not at all." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. He tuned out all thoughts of work and coworkers and pending life decisions, and chose to focus on the simplicity of the moment.

Right now, he was with a woman who may have very well changed his life – a woman he could imagine spending the rest of that changed life with…

"Mmm Fitz." She mumbled sleepily against his chest.

"Hmm?"

"I hope everything works out for you, wherever you end up."

 _Hopefully with you…_

He tightened his arms around her.

"I'm glad you picked me up."

He rubbed a hand over her back. "Me too, Livvie." He closed his eyes. "I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

Fitz awoke the next morning unexpectedly cold. He reached out to his right and came in contact with the sheets. He blinked several times, rubbing his eyes and wondering if it had all been a dream.

He looked around, noting that he was in Maya and Dominic's home.

 _So it really did happen…_

He scanned the room for Olivia or any trace of her. There was none. He stood and stretched, listening for footsteps or a hint of life. He removed the sheets from the bed before reassembling the couch and moving the coffee table back to its original position.

He walked to the laundry room to drop off the sheets, growing increasingly confused at Olivia's absence. He walked throughout the entire first floor of the house, and, coming up empty, finally made his way to the kitchen.

There, sitting on the counter, was an omelet. Despite her absence, he smiled at the kindness of the gesture. As he approached the counter, he noticed something resting beside the plate.

His eyes narrowed at the sight of the broken wheel from Olivia's suitcase on top of a note. He moved the wheel, picking up the note,

 _Fitz,_

 _I'm sorry to leave so abruptly. Please tell my mother and Dominic that I appreciate their hospitality, but something came up. I'll be away for a little while (backpacking across Europe was just too tempting), but I'll be in contact when I'm in the area. Lunch will be on me._

 _P.S. I'll be volunteering in Papua New Guinea this summer, but it'll be a little hard to get around while my suitcase is missing a wheel. I know we didn't get to see the end of the movie, so spoiler alert: Prince Charming got Cinderella's shoe back to her with a little effort. I trust that you'll do the same._

He smiled reading the last line. At the bottom of the note was a number she labeled as the volunteer agency's next to a smiley face.

Left only with the vague scent of her lingering on his clothes, he marveled at the events of the day before. She had come in and out of his life, just as quick and powerful as the storm brewing outside.

Her sudden absence filled him with an unexplainable sadness, but the prospect of seeing her again set his heart aflame with eager anticipation.

In the meantime, he had a few plans of his own to make.


	4. Goodbye For Now

**Author's Note: Wow, it's been a minute since I've been on here! Haha I didn't count on just how busy college and work can keep you during the year. I just have to say first THANK YOU to anyone who read/reviewed/enjoyed any of the past installments I've posted, and thank you to anyone who's reading now! I really do appreciate it.**

 **I was actually working on a multi-chapter fic that I've had outlined...and re-outlined since January (that'll hopefully be up within the next few weeks!), but I took a break and this one kind of just happened haha. I was really taken by the finale, and I guess it was more stuck on my brain than I thought. I know a lot of people aren't necessarily a fan of how dark Liv has gone but I'm genuinely enjoying it. I think there are a lot of complexities to who she is now, and many (possibly redeeming, possibly Greek tragedy) directions they can go from here. This was just a scenario I had playing around in my head and couldn't help but write it out.**

 **Also, I apologize in advance for any typos. I just did my final proofread at 4am, but that aside, please enjoy :)**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Scandal or any of its characters.**

* * *

It's been five months.

Five months since he's seen her. Five months since she sent him off with a public display of her love to go live the life he had always imagined for them.

It's been nice. The air is fresher there. He had forgotten what it was like to live in a space so pure, and to not feel the dirt and grime of D.C. sticking to his skin the second he opened his eyes.

He wonders often if she likes it, if being in the White House feels as good for her as being out of it feels for him.

They spoke once on the phone a few weeks after he had left. He tried to ignore the way her voice would get distant, and how he could hear her downing what was likely more than one glass of wine as he spoke. It just felt so _good_ to hear her voice again and to be free enough to really enjoy it.

She told him she was fine, and he couldn't bring himself to believe otherwise. He couldn't acknowledge what he knew to be the truth – that she was rarely ever _fine_ – because he was in Vermont, in the sanctuary they had created and baptized, and she was still in D.C. And there wasn't anything he could do to change that.

But one day, he finds himself watching the news longer than he has in a while, and he starts to notice things. And he can no longer ignore that things aren't fine.

To the average viewer, they're all coincidences: a senator's resignation, a congressman's arrest, a supreme court justice's untimely death. But together, they send off a series of bells and whistles in his head.

He recalls easily that those particular names had caused trouble for his administration on more than one occasion – that they were continuous thorns in his side, and he was sure that they could have only continued to be such for Mellie.

He almost shakes it off, almost ignores the sinking feeling settling in at the pit of his stomach and changes the channel. Until one report catches his attention.

" _We are now receiving word that it appears Judge Richardson passed away in his sleep from a heart attack..."_

It takes him a moment to remember why those words sound so eerily familiar, and then it hits him.

Luna Vargas died the same way.

They said she was found in her office the night of the inauguration. Her agents claimed she had retreated for a brief nap before the ball, and the next thing they knew, they were checking her pulse.

The country was in complete mourning in the days following her death.

Poor Luna Vargas couldn't handle the stress of her husband's death _and_ having to uphold his legacy. And those poor kids...

At the time, he couldn't help but believe they had a hand in it. Maybe if they had just left her alone, let her retreat from the public eye in peace, she wouldn't have been so stressed; she wouldn't have died.

But now, staring at his screen five months later, he can't help but feel that this wouldn't have been the case. Luna still would have died.

Someone still would have killed her.

The realization brings him to his feet, and he begins pacing immediately. Back and forth at first because he's trying to think, and then...circles, because something's wrong. He got that from her.

 _Was she a part of it?_

 _Did she have something to do with it?_

He stops abruptly as a thought strikes him. His body feels too hot, and then suddenly too cold.

She had everything to do with it.

He doesn't want to believe it, and nearly convinces himself that he doesn't. But soon, he's on a plane heading south and trying to reconcile the most irrational thing he's done since the last days of his presidency.

It's all a blur, really. Calling up to have his private plane ready to go, spending just over an hour in the air, the subsequent car ride. He can't really recall any of it, because he was in such a haze – going over every possible scenario, filing through every tidbit of news he had retained of the goings-on in D.C. since his absence.

But soon, too soon, he finds himself in an all too familiar position.

It's late and he's standing outside her door.

He can't bring himself to knock, so he stares. It hits him then just how ridiculous this all is.

 _What the hell was he thinking?_

Coming here, thinking that she was –

"Fitz?"

He turns around quickly, just in time to see her step off the elevator. She looks confused beyond words, and he can feel his cheeks begin to heat. For a moment, he wishes he hadn't told his agent to wait outside in the car, so that at least they wouldn't be alone.

The thought almost makes him laugh.

He never thought he'd see the day he actually wanted agents imposing on their private time together.

"I…" he starts, then stops, not entirely knowing how to explain the whole situation. They stand in an uncomfortable silence for a long moment.

Despite her confusion, she eventually walks over and unlocks her door, allowing him inside.

And suddenly, the wall cracks. In her apartment, hidden from the world, it feels easier to speak – easier to just be; just as it always has. He watches as she removes her coat and sinks slowly onto the couch, all the while her gaze avoids his. He moves to sit next to her, leaving a distance between them that doesn't quite feel right.

She speaks after a long moment, "What are you doing here, Fitz?"

She doesn't seem angry, but the curiosity in her tone is colored by a tinge of disapproval.

He stares at her profile, waiting for her to turn to him. A minute nearly passes before she finally does.

He's immediately struck by the bags under her eyes and the slight furrowing of her eyebrows. She's beautiful as always, but she looks…weary.

"Liv." he wants to ask her so many questions, to know if she's done anything his mind has managed to conjure up in the last five hours. He wants to ask so that she can deny, but he knows now that won't be the case.

"I know," he says instead. He watches the moment realization hits her; a series of emotions flash across her face – fear, remorse, anger. He can see as she tries to close herself off to him, armoring herself with the steel wall of defense he assumes she's been carrying around all these months.

But he can't let her. Not here.

"Livvie," he tries, hoping to remind her that it's them, _just_ them.

It seems to work, as her eyes soften and her shoulders relax for just a moment. He knows it's his chance and, as much as he hates to, he has to continue.

"Luna Vargas." The way she looks to the side at the mention of the woman's name tells him all he needs to know, but he still goes on. "That was you, wasn't it? And Judge Richardson?"

She stands, quickly moving across the room and disappearing into her kitchen.

"Liv?" He calls out, his quickly growing frustration seeping into his voice.

She comes out a moment later carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses.

 _Oh._

"I can't talk about this with you without a drink."

She pops the cork like every bit of the pro she is and pours a generous amount in his glass, before nearly filling her own to the brim. He watches as she drains almost half of it in one go.

"Who told you?" She questions with the glass still held firmly in her hands.

He takes a sip from his glass and leans back into the couch.

"No one. I was just watching the news and I guess I just started putting things together."

She turns to look at him for a long moment. Her gaze is intense, and he realizes she's trying to discern if he's telling the truth.

The realization makes his eyebrows furrow.

"Are you serious, Liv?" He places his glass down harshly on the table. "Why would I need to lie to you? After eight years as _president_ , I'd like to think I have enough experience with these things to know when they stop being coincidences."

She seems surprised by his anger and starts to shake her head. "No it's not – you weren't approached by my father at all?"

His anger gives way to confusion, and he relaxes into the couch once more.

"No, why?"

"It's just," she takes another sip, "I told him to leave you alone." She pauses for a moment, her gaze focusing on the last of the wine in her glass. "You shouldn't be here. You're done with all of this. You should be working on your foundation, enjoying Vermont. Not thinking about whatever's going on over here."

"What _is_ going on over here?" He slowly removes the glass from her hand, trying to return her attention to him.

She lets him take her hands in his and returns his gaze, but doesn't speak. He can tell by the look on her face that she's debating with herself. He waits patiently until she finally decides on what to say.

"Luna Vargas was an active threat to both the president-elect and to this administration. Judge Robinson was a threat to this country's upholding its constitutional values. I did what needed to be done."

His eyes go wide for a moment. "You mean Luna was behind –"

"I'm not at liberty to say anymore."

The request for him to not ask anything else is written so clearly across her face, and he decides he doesn't need any further details on their deaths. But he still has questions, questions that need answers.

"Are you saying this as Chief of Staff or as _Command?_ "

It sounds so wrong coming from his mouth, tastes bitter on his tongue. He doesn't know how he expected her to react, but the causal raise of her eyebrows throws him for a loop.

"You sound upset."

He lets out an incredulous chuckle, mimicking her actions from minutes ago by nearly draining his glass.

"I just think it's a little funny you were so hellbent on convincing me not to take the position, only to turn around and take it yourself."

"Fitz," she sighs.

He runs his hand over his face in frustration. "I just want to know _why,_ Liv!" His voice is loud now, because he can't deny it anymore, because the reality of it is crashing on him in waves and he's forgotten just how bad this can feel.

" _That's_ why!" Her tone matches his, and soon she's standing again, pacing…

"I talked you out of taking it because you didn't deserve to go through that. Because I didn't want it for you, _not_ because I wanted it for me."

The moment she finishes, they both seem to deflate. The anger is gone as quickly as it arrived, and they both simply look at one another.

She slowly returns to her seat next to him, this time sitting so that there is no space between them. He instinctively places an arm around her shoulder, and she falls into him, crossing one leg over the other and letting it intertwine with his.

It feels so natural, clinging to each other in this way – a lifeline in the uncharted territory they've officially entered.

They remain quietly entangled for a long while. He's almost completely relaxed when she starts to speak again.

"I always thought my father was exaggerating with that whole 'protecting the republic' spiel. I mean, he definitely was sometimes, but there was some truth to it."

He listens to her words carefully, knowing firsthand – even if only briefly – how deeply they could ring true.

"There was always going to be somebody. Somebody trying to stack the deck in their favor, trying to have the final say, trying to have control." She sighs, and he notices just how tired she truly sounds. "There was always going to be another outsider – another Peus or Luna to fight." She turns so that she is looking directly at him. "I don't want to have to keep fighting for what's right. For what's mine."

Her final words linger in the air. And for a moment, the world doesn't seem so big. Everything outside her apartment suddenly seems so distant, so far removed from the present moment that they both allow themselves to forget.

Before either of them realize what's happening, they're leaning in.

Their lips touch in a collision simultaneously so soft and so powerful that, for a moment, it feels like the world has been set right. The kiss quickly grows heated, as she whimpers into his mouth and he groans into hers.

They've both missed this, more than either would like to admit. The time and distance has made them hungry in a way they've only been a few times before. She moves to straddle his lap the moment his tongue brushes against hers, and he takes it upon himself to hold her closer so that she can feel the effect she's having on him.

He's soon moving to her neck and his hands are gripping her ass, his hips already starting to grind against hers.

"Fitz…" she moans, moving her hand to the back of his head.

He groans in approval at the familiar feel of her hands tangled in his hair and nips at her neck. She lifts his face to hers again, and their lips meet with renewed fervor.

That seems to be the final threshold. They're desperate now and begin to remove their clothes hurriedly. He nearly snags a few buttons on her blouse, and she removes his polo in record time.

When all's gone but his boxers and her panties, he picks her up and makes his way to her bedroom – all the while she lays kisses along his jawline. He drops her on the bed, wasting no time as she stretches out and he places himself between her thighs.

He takes a moment to breathe her in, and revels in how good it feels to be here again – listening to her shallow breaths, threatening at any moment to crescendo into moans of bliss. The thought sends him over the edge, and he hastily removes the final silk barrier.

Her head falls back at the first lick, and he wonders how they've made it so long without this.

She cries out when he takes her over the edge, and he's sure he won't make it so long again.

Sometime after he's sated her twice over, he finds himself taking in her beauty from above as he aligns himself with her center. He enters slowly, crooning a low, nearly growl-like " _Livvie_ ," as she gasps.

He moves slowly at first, letting them both get readjusted after all this time.

But soon, he's being urged on by her cries of , "Harder, Fitz, _please._ "

" _Shit, Livvie…missed you."_

" _Right there… feels so good."_

" _Fuck_."

" _Yes! Fitz, please…missed you too._ "

They're panting, moving together.

It's what they do – what they've always done. And it feels so unbelievably right…

She falls over the edge with a gasp and a soundless scream, the power of her orgasm taking her by surprise. He follows immediately afterwards, groaning loudly and calling out her name.

They don't move for a long while. Her arms stay wrapped under his, holding onto his shoulders. He remains slightly elevated above her. Their foreheads touch and they try desperately to catch their breaths, all the while breathing each other in.

Eventually, he slips out of her, and she involuntarily whimpers his name at the loss. He hides his face in her neck and carefully lowers his body onto hers. They both sigh at the contact.

* * *

Later, when their eyes are heavy and he moves to get off of her, they end up making love again.

Their night persists in this way – love-making punctuated by short intervals of dozing off. They both know it to be a brief suspension of reality, the escape they both so desperately need. But somewhere, in the midst of it all, something about the rawness, the passion, the _love_ feels so real, that they can't bring themselves stop.

When daylight finally breaks, they're slow to get out of bed.

They bring the last of the night's escape with them into the shower, letting it resonate in moans echoing off the tiled walls and drift away on clouds of steam.

They don't speak much during that time, at least not about what they know they should. They pretend that everything's normal – that the beginning of their day together won't inevitability start their next few weeks apart.

He compliments her in the mirror when she's almost fully dressed and she gives him a rare, brilliant smile in return. She gives him a shirt of his she's had stashed away in her closet in exchange for his discarded polo from the day before. He makes them coffee he finds in the kitchen and they debate whether she's stolen more of his shirts or he's snagged more of her underwear.

It feels right.

But then, the early morning hours give way to seven, then eight, and they both know it's time to go.

He informs her that his plane is scheduled to leave within the next hour, and she shares that she'll be heading to the office soon.

He doesn't ask which one.

But she sees the look in his eyes, and she knows that there's still the elephant in the room. With a resolved sigh, she takes his hand and guides him back to the couch, eyeing with disdain the bottle she left open all night.

He chuckles at her reaction, and she immediately relaxes.

Once they're settled, she turns to meet his gaze.

"I know you don't agree, but," she takes in a deep breath. "I don't need to be saved." _Not yet_. "I just…"

He watches her, waiting patiently for her to finish her thought.

"I need _you_ to be safe." She averts her gaze for a moment, before looking back at him. "I know you want to be away from all of this, and you deserve to be. But…I don't. I don't want to be free from it all. Not yet. I just need to know what it's like to feel in control of my own life. _I_ deserve that."

It makes sense, listening to her, but he can't help but worry.

"I can't let go. I'm not done yet."

It's less of a declaration and more of a plea. He can hear it in her voice and see it in her eyes – a plea to understand.

He doesn't understand completely, and knows he probably never will. He hasn't been through the same experiences she has. He hasn't lived the life she has. But he knows it's not his place to stand in her way – not now at least.

More importantly, he knows he'll be there when she is ready.

"I can't let go either," he responds, hoping she'll understand what he means.

"I know," she sighs, "and I don't want you to."

They're both silent after that, letting the gravity of their words fill the space. After a moment, he looks down at his watch.

"I guess I should get going." Just as he rises from the couch, her hand grabs his.

"Wait." She urges him to sit back down. "Just one minute. Please?"

She looks so vulnerable in that moment, and his heart clenches with the realization that this has all taken such a heavy toll on her. She was asking for one last moment to be human – a final chance to just be, before she had to go out into the world, guns blazing, in all her Olivia Pope armor to be Chief of Staff…to be Command.

"One minute." He nods with a smile, taking her into his arms.

He breathes her in, letting himself think about only how good it feels to have her in his arms, how grateful he is that she still feels like home after so many years. He can feel her breath hitch and immediately begins rubbing his hand over her back, hoping to soothe her.

The minute is over far sooner than either of them would have liked, and he slowly helps her to her feet. He grabs the blazer she's thrown over the back of a chair and holds it out, helping her put it on. He smooths his hands over her shoulders and she gives him a small smile.

They slowly make their way out her door. He watches in near awe the transformation that occurs when she steps outside. It's subtle – unnoticeable, he's sure, to anyone else – but still there. Her posture becomes impossibly straighter, the light in her eyes dims ever so slightly and he can tell that her guard is back up.

They're both going down, but they know they won't ride in the elevator together – that this is their goodbye.

She continues to stand near her door, and he takes that at his cue to go first. He can feel her eyes on him as he waits for the elevator.

When it finally arrives, he gets on and turns around, keeping it open with his hands.

After a moment, with a final, sad smile he speaks, "Goodbye, Ms. Pope."

Her expression mimics his. It's the last thing he sees when he finally lets the doors start to close.

"See you later, Fitz."

 _Until next time…_


	5. Goodbye For Now II

**A/N: I was working on the next chapter of In the Right Direction, but I couldn't get this out of my head. I had already been debating doing a second part to my post season 6 one shot for a few days and was in the middle of some serious packing procrastination, when this just came out haha. As always, I hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Scandal or any of its characters.**

* * *

An innocent man died today.

The thought makes her feel sick.

He had a family – a wife, two kids and a dog. He was faithful to them, he worked overtime to put his kids through private school, he attended church every Sunday and went to brunch with his wife's family afterwards.

He was an innocent man, but he had to die.

He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and saw things he shouldn't have – things that, if they got out, could be catastrophic. He could've turned the country on its side with a simple whisper to a reporter. He could've endangered national security by blabbing to his wife and friends.

All he had to do was sign the damn nondisclosure, but he was too curious and too righteous…

He had to die.

She had to put out an order for his death.

He _had_ to die.

She repeats it in her head, over and over, trying to justify it. But it still doesn't sit right, it still makes her stomach churn and her throat run dry.

An innocent man died today because she said so.

And for the first time, the thought of how much power she has absolutely terrifies her.

She takes in a shaky breath, but it doesn't help. The pressure of the responsibility she has weighs down on her; it squeezes her until she feels like she can't breathe, and suddenly, she's hunched over, trying desperately to catch her breath.

It's been so long since she's experienced this that it takes her a moment to realize what's happening. When she does, she immediately goes through the motions – sitting on the floor, steadying herself against a wall, making sure her hands and feet are grounded. It helps her feel stable.

But it's not enough.

Almost instinctually, she closes her eyes and lets herself conjure up an image she's had stashed away for over a year now.

It's from one of those few blissful moments when they were together in the White House, before it all went horribly wrong and fell apart.

He had gone back to the oval after dinner to take care of a few last-minute things, and she had settled on the couch, promising to wait up for him. But then, she fell asleep anyways, and – perhaps it was because it was her first time in weeks not sleeping in his arms – she had a nightmare. It was a recurring one that had plagued her since the kidnapping; there was the red door, and a bricked-over window, and taunting voices.

She had woken up with a gasp only to find him hovering over her, his eyes full of worry.

"Liv?" He asked, his voice heavy with concern.

She opened and closed her mouth, but no words could get out. Her chest heaved and her hands shook, and when he noticed, a brief look of panic flashed across his face.

"Liv…Livvie, I'm here. Breathe with me."

His hands were on her face, trying to get her to see him – really see him – as he took deep breaths. The combination of his touch, scent and voice slowly soothed her, filling her with a warmth only he could.

Eventually, her breathing matched his and she felt herself fully calm.

Pressing his forehead against hers, he let out a relieved sigh.

"You're ok, Liv. It's gonna be ok…"

She finally feels her breathing even out in present time, his words ringing in her ears.

 _It's gonna be ok._

She has the sudden, strong desire to hear him say it again, and, without thinking, she pulls out her phone.

She's just about to send the call through when something stops her.

It doesn't feel right to involve him in this.

She's thought it over countless times since his visit three months ago. She's tried pointlessly to forget the utter devastation on his face when she couldn't deny the reality she knew he so desperately wanted her to. She remembers all too clearly the sad look in his eyes when he realized she wasn't going to give it up.

Yet, she also hasn't let herself forget how he handled her body with such care throughout that night – how he made her feel loved for the first time since he had left, and how every part of her ached to stay with him.

She can feel her eyes start to burn with tears.

She knows he'll be there for her – he told her as much.

And suddenly, it becomes clear that not involving him isn't a choice. She needs him.

Perhaps she'll apologize for disrupting his life after the fact, and promise to leave him be for the foreseeable future, but for right now…she needs him.

* * *

It occurs to her only after she's tried and failed to call him four times that she doesn't just need his voice, but she actually needs _him_. And so, several phone calls later, she finds herself boarding a plane minutes to midnight.

For as much trouble as its caused her, she's grateful that her new position at least affords her the option of escaping at a moment's notice when need be.

The flight feels longer than it actually is, and she spends the majority of it distracting herself with work – the tedious, monotonous work that usually takes up her time at the White House. She appreciates that, for a little while, it takes her mind completely off of everything. It gives her a chance to pretend that, for that brief moment, the entire weight of the world isn't actually on her shoulders.

But then, the plane lands and she's soon giving her driver directions to the address she's had memorized ever since he shared it with her, and it all comes back in full force.

She feels sick again.

She considers telling her driver to turn around and already starts calculating how soon she can be back in D.C., when all too soon, he's coming to a stop.

Her breath catches.

Thoughts of the last time she was here come rushing to the surface. She can so clearly envision him – a charcoal sweater replacing his usual suit and tie, a certain ease slipping into his posture, a hint of wistfulness on his face.

Their fantasy seemed to fit him so perfectly.

Her heart clenches, not for the first time, at the thought that just maybe that's how it was always meant to be. Maybe the fantasy was always better off without her.

Just as she fully convinces herself that coming here was a mistake, she sees movement by the door.

She's suddenly frozen in place, and her entire body heats as she watches and waits.

A secret service agent she hadn't seen go inside suddenly comes back out and approaches the car. Her driver rolls down the window and they begin to speak, but she doesn't hear a thing.

She spots him the moment he comes into sight. He's standing in the doorway, a second agent seemingly advising him to go back into the house, but he doesn't listen, instead walking straight out into the night.

Her eyes drink him in immediately. He's wearing only sweats she assumes he must've just thrown on over his boxers. Her gaze lingers on his bare chest, her body instinctively reacting to the sight. She blinks after a long moment, her stare roaming upwards to take in his tired eyes and full head of bed-hair.

She instantly feels guilty for disturbing his sleep.

But just as she starts mulling over the slew of excuses she can give him for why she's come before promptly making an escape, his eyes fall on her window, locking with hers.

Her brows furrow. The windows are tinted – at her request – and she wonders if he knows what he's doing.

He doesn't leave her to wonder long, however, because seconds later, he's making his way to the car – his strides long and purposeful – and her heart is beating so quickly she think it might burst.

She's not sure if it's too soon or not soon enough, but a moment later, he's opening her door and staring at her directly.

A beat passes.

"Hi," she breathes out, surprised by the relief in her own voice.

He blinks once, then twice, and then leans down. She's not sure what he's doing until he reaches across her waist to unlock her seatbelt.

In the blink of an eye, his face is directly in front of hers, the distance between them so little that she can practically already feel his lips on hers.

His presence is quickly overwhelming, and her breathing turns shallow.

"Hi," he finally returns. His voice is low, raspy, and it's like an immediate mollifier.

The tension and nerves melt away in an instant, and she doesn't hesitate to wrap her arms around his neck just as he scoops her out of the car. He exchanges a few words with his agents and her driver, before making his way back into the house.

Being in his arms again feels good – too good, and she tucks her head into his neck, breathing him in deeply. She doesn't raise her head until he stops, and when she does, she finds that they're in a room she's never been in before.

With her still in his arms, he makes his way over to a lamp. As he turns it on, a dim light fills the room, allowing her to take it in. It's warm, with mahogany hardwood floors, a chestnut dresser to match the nightstands, and a cream-colored chair in the corner that perfectly offsets the rumpled sheets of his bed.

He catches her staring, asking after a moment, "Do you like it?"

She nods as he gently places her on the edge of his bed. "I do."

He smiles softly, glancing around the room. "I was always hoping you would."

And just like that, he washes away her doubts about coming. His words make her feel welcomed, smoothing over her most potent fears. She blinks to clear her tears, but she's not quick enough.

He moves to kneel in front of her, bringing one hand up to her cheek and placing the other on her thigh.

"Liv, what happened?" he implores, his eyes boring into hers.

She turns the words over in her mind, tries to figure out the best way to explain herself, but she can't. She's scared of how he'll react, and she doesn't want to begrime his bedroom with the details of a world he's long since left behind.

She starts to look away, but he moves his hand to her chin, gently urging her to look back at him.

As if reading her thoughts, he tries again, "Liv, you can talk to me. What happened?"

"I…" She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. "I had a bad day at work," as hard as she tries, it's all she can get out in the moment, and when she opens her eyes, she finds that his gaze is still tinged with anxious curiosity.

She takes a deep breath to try again. "I had a bad day at work, and I just wanted to come home."

Her own words catch her off guard, and she watches as his face reflects her own surprise. His expression soon gives way to a gentle smile that doesn't entirely conceal his worry and he nods.

"Ok."

Neither says anything after that, but even in their silence, he's as attuned as ever to her needs and moves to sit beside her, gently lifting her onto his lap and allowing her to hide her face in his neck.

He holds her for a long while, pressing occasional kisses to her head. The comfort of his support and the tenderness of his touch cocoon her from the stress and pressure that's been suffocating her for the past few hours, and she finds herself finally able to relax.

Soon her eyelids grow heavy, but just as she begins to drift off to sleep, he stands with her in his arms and makes his way to a set of doors she hadn't seen earlier. He opens them to reveal an impressively large walk-in closet.

She remains only half-conscious until he sets her down on an ottoman tucked away in the corner. He walks away for a moment, and as she grows more alert, she takes in the large empty spaces left on one side.

He soon returns, and she looks at him with furrowed brows.

"Why did you leave all that space?"

It seems like a silly question to ask given the nature of their brief time together, but her curiosity gets the best of her.

"Oh." He glances at the space, before clearing his throat and hesitantly meeting her gaze again, a hint of embarrassment coloring his face. "That was…that was for you."

Her lips part in surprise, and her breath hitches.

He's still made space for her. After all this time and everything they've been through, he still sees a space for her in the life he created for them.

An indescribable warmth fills her – it's a feeling she's only experienced once before, when he uttered the words, "This house is yours, _ours_ " all those years before.

It makes every part of her yearn to be close to him, and the adrenaline of it all so easily pierces through her exhaustion that she's soon standing, making her way to him in seconds.

The moment their lips meet is as earth-shaking as it was months before, and she nearly falls into him. He holds her up with a tight grip around her waist as her own hands tangle in his hair and run over the chiseled plane of his back.

She sighs at the feel of him trapping her bottom lip with his teeth before sucking it into his mouth to soothe away the sting, and he groans as she brushes her tongue against his. It's a song-and-dance they do incredibly well – they always have and always will.

She takes advantage of his being half-dressed and runs a hand through the hair on his chest.

He smiles against her lips as she does so, and she lets out a small giggle, which quickly gives way to a shriek as he lifts her unexpectedly, carrying in his arms as he makes his way back to the bed.

He drops her on it, letting her bounce once before he's hovering over her.

His expression suddenly turns serious.

"Tell me what you want, Liv."

She takes a moment to catch her breath.

The haze starts to clear, and for the first time in hours, she isn't boggled down by a myriad of thoughts. Only one stands out, clear as day in her mind, and she knows she couldn't ignore it even if she wanted to.

"I want you to make love to me," she pauses, "here, in our home."

The words are electrifying; she feels it as they leave her mouth and sees it on his face as his expression changes.

His eyes darken, and he cups her face with one hand, sliding the other down her side and under her blouse.

He leans in and his lips ghost over hers as he asks again, "What do you want?"

She swallows. He's so close, but not close enough and her entire body buzzes with desire. He's the only man who's ever made her feel so completely overwhelmed with need, and it makes the answer fall mindlessly from her lips.

"You," it comes out in a sigh, and she arches into him, allowing his hand to slide under her and unhook her bra.

"I want you," she repeats, "in our home…" She barely gets the last word out before his lips are pressed against hers again.

The sensation combined with that of his calloused hand starting to knead her breasts makes her whimper. She's already so ready for him, and he knows.

She's in a daze when he moves away from her, but before she has time to complain, he's tearing her blouse off – not even bothering to waste time trying to unbutton this time around – and tugging her pants off hastily.

She barely registers how quickly he's managed to undress her when his fingers hook in the sides of her panties and slide them off at lightning speed. She's completely bare and open to him, and he looks over her with such an intense look of hunger that she can't help but let her legs spread wider.

He runs his hands up her thighs, stopping right before she can feel his touch where she needs it most, and she lets out a frustrated sigh.

" _Fitz_."

"Shh," he smirks, lowering his head.

The anticipation of what's to come makes her hips writhe, and he tightens his hold on her to keep her in place

Before she has a chance to complain, his head dips down and his mouth is on her.

She moans immediately.

The feeling of his mouth on her is so familiar, and yet it still sends a shockwave through her body as if it's the first time.

Only a few minutes pass before she's whimpering, her fingers tangled in his hair as her hips grind into his mouth. But just as her thoughts start to give way to feeling, and the familiar surge of utter euphoria threatens to take control of her body, she tugs at his curls a little harder – a silent sign beckoning him to stop.

When he raises his head, he looks so completely frustrated that she has to stifle a moan and fight the temptation to let him finish.

But, she wants _him_.

She's missed him, and she wants him in her. She wants his chest pressed against hers, she wants the warmth and scent of him to envelope her when she finally lets go.

She doesn't have to say any of it, because he knows.

In seconds, he manages to rid himself of his sweats and boxers, and this time, she can't contain her moan as she takes him in. She never forgets just how gorgeous he is, and yet, it always seems to take her by surprise.

He quickly climbs back on top of her and lines himself up with her center, wasting no time.

Leaning down, he presses his forehead against hers, and they both take a moment to breathe one another in.

And then, finally, when it seems the world has stopped just for them, he enters her.

She cries out, already so sensitive from his mouth, and he showers her face with kisses.

In that moment, as their bodies instinctually move together, she doesn't feel anything short of utter relief.

She's too lost in him to really consider it, but in the back of her mind, she recognizes that she made the right decision in coming to him.

This is how it was meant to be.

 _This is how it should be_.

* * *

He watches her sleep.

The sight completely warms his heart, and he fights the urge for the hundredth time that morning to take a picture.

He always wants to remember the sight of her wrapped in his sheets.

 _Their sheets_ – his mind corrects.

Now, seeing her there, in the master bedroom designed with her in mind, it feels like all the pieces have finally fallen into place. It feels right – like she's been there all along – and he suddenly can't imagine what it'll be like without her again.

He chooses not to think about it, instead pulling on his sweater and carefully readjusting the sheets around her before quietly making his way out of the room.

When a half hour passes, he considers going back up to check on her. But then he remembers that she did show up in the middle of the night, and that the day before had clearly taken its toll on her, and he decides against it.

When another hour goes by, he does peak in, a little curious and a little worried, given that he's never known her to sleep past 11.

Finally, when he removes the breakfast he set aside for her from the microwave to replace it with her lunch, he decides to try to wake her up.

His timing is impeccable. Just as he walks through the door, she starts to sit up, rubbing at her eyes. He watches as she blinks, her gaze drifting about the room before finally falling on him.

"Hi," he smiles.

Her brows furrow for a moment, and he nearly melts at the confused pout on her face.

"Hi," her voice is raspy, and she pauses to let out a yawn. "What time is it?"

"Almost two," he recalls, making his way over to her.

"What?" Her surprise is stifled by another yawn, and he can't help but chuckle.

"I take that as a good sign you like the mattress I picked out?" He sits beside her, leaning in to peck her lips.

She hums and raises a hand to caress his cheek.

"I do like the mattress, but…"

"But?" He questions starting to lean in again.

His lips are mere centimeters from hers when she finishes, "I don't think that's why I slept so well."

They both suddenly seem aware of how loosely the sheet is fitted around her chest, and she adjusts it, tightening her hold.

"Wait." He gets off the bed, quickly walking into the closet and returning a moment later. "Here," he hands her the shirt he had intended to give her the night before.

She looks down at it, a soft smile growing on her face.

"I considered stealing that one before you left."

With raised eyebrows, he grins. "I would've given it to you if you asked."

They both know it's true. During those brief months after they had stopped having to sneak around – when they were finally able to enjoy the peace of an unhurried dawn together – that particular Navy shirt had been silently designated as hers.

"I was scared…" she pauses, a distant look flashing across her face. He recognizes something resembling vulnerability, when she suddenly clears her throat. "I, uh, I was scared it might stop smelling like you after a while."

She doesn't give him a chance to consider her words before she's pulling the shirt on and rising from the bed.

His eyes linger on her for a long moment. Something about seeing her dwarfed by his shirt always hits him with a particularly potent wave of endearment, and this time is no different.

Unable to stop himself, he stands, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into him.

"Yes?" She tries to keep a straight face, but a smile already starts to tug at her lips.

He shakes his head. "Nothing. It's just…" He leans down, resting his forehead against hers, and closing his eyes to breathe her in. "It's nice having you here."

When he opens his eyes, he's surprised to see that she looks so emotional. Tears shine in her eyes, and her grip on his arms tightens.

"Fitz," it's barely a whisper, and he can tell that she wants to say so much – that she needs to say so much – but for whatever reason, she can't.

And then, her words from only moments before replay in his mind, and it hits him.

 _She's scared_.

His heart constricts painfully at the realization, and he brings a hand to her cheek, gently caressing it.

"Livvie…"

She lets out a shaky breath, closing her eyes.

"Talk to me," he urges softly.

"I should go –" she tries to pull away, but he doesn't let her.

This isn't how they're going to do this. Not here.

But then, as she looks at him, her eyes nearly pleading, he realizes he can't push her – they're not going to do _that_ here either.

"I made us lunch," he offers simply, finally letting her out of his grasp.

It's an invitation to meet on middle ground. He won't push, and he hopes that she won't run. They can talk, or not talk, but now that the shock has worn off and he's had time to process, he knows that she wouldn't be here unless she felt that she needed to be.

She looks at him warily for a moment before nodding. "Let me just freshen up a bit, and I'll meet you downstairs."

He can't stop the small smile that forms at her words. For a moment, it feels like this is normal – like this is how it's always been.

"Ok," he nods, leaning in to press a final kiss to her forehead. "See you in a little bit."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, she comes down still wearing his shirt, with the addition of a pair of his running shorts rolled once at the waist.

He grins at the sight.

"You look way better in those than I do."

She glances down, scrunching up her nose and feigning consideration. "I do, don't I?"

He chuckles, shaking his head and making his way over to her. When he finally closes the gap between them and wraps his arms around her waist, he's immediately hit by the familiar scent of her body wash.

He nuzzles his face in her neck, breathing in deeply.

He doesn't need to say anything for her to know what he's doing, and she raises a hand to lace her fingers in his hair.

"Thank you," she speaks softly, pausing before adding, "for all of it."

He knows she's referring to the fact that the bathroom is stocked with her favorite essentials – body washes and lotions he knows she swears by, along with shampoo, conditioner, and oils he's watched her rake through her hair on a few occasions.

"Don't thank me." He lifts his head to look at her pointedly, "I always want you to feel comfortable here."

Again, his words seem to make her emotional, and she blinks to clear the tears from her eyes.

She takes a step back before starting to walk the short distance to the kitchen. "So, what'd you make for me?"

He watches her for a moment, considering her, before following behind. "Don't get your hopes up," he grins, "It's nothing special."

* * *

"Nothing special" turns out to be a pretty impressive pasta dish filled with smoked salmon and topped with sun-dried tomatoes and parmesan cheese.

She moans unintentionally when she takes her first bite, and doesn't miss the way his gaze sharpens on her for a moment. He tells her he's already had his fill, and is content to instead just watch her.

When she finishes, she leans on the counter, propping herself up with her elbow.

"I don't know where you learned to cook like that –"

"Would you believe me if I said I taught myself?"

She stares at him for a moment, her eyes narrowing before she shakes her head. "Absolutely not."

He chuckles, holding his hands up in faux surrender. "Alright, I may have had Louis give me a few lessons before my term ended."

She suddenly stands with her plate, making her way over to the sink. "I can't believe you took advantage of poor Louis. That definitely wasn't in his job description."

"Hey, I'll have you know he was happy to do it."

"You were president," she emphasizes, flashing him a smirk. "People would've said they were happy to lick the dirt off your shoes."

He grins, shaking his head as he approaches her.

"Definitely not true."

"Oh, it definitely is –" She stops speaking abruptly as his arms wrap around her waist, and he places his chin on her shoulder. Sighing, she leans back into him, allowing herself just a moment to get lost in the domesticity of it all.

It feels so good, being here with him like this, and she forces herself to not ruin the moment by thinking of what's to come.

"I would've done that, you know." He gestures to the sink.

"It's ok," she turns the faucet off, "I'm already done."

He removes one arm from around her and reaches for the plate, placing it on the drying rack to the side. Seconds later, he spins her around and places his hands on either side of her, trapping her between him and the sink.

"I really do love having you here." His voice is quiet, cautious. His words open the door for so many things left unsaid – so many questions and answers – and they both know it.

Her brows furrow and she looks down. A moment passes before her gaze meets his again, and when it does, he can tell that she's conflicted.

She mulls over her words, considering the crossroads they're at now.

She can continue to keep the world at bay, continue to pretend like she so desperately wants to. She's incredibly grateful that he's even made it an option – that he's letting her stay in his home still, and making it possible for her to pretend that it is actually hers, too.

That final thought circles her mind once, then twice, and she finds that it's suddenly too loud to ignore.

"I'm sorry," she whispers suddenly, because it's all that she can think to say.

Without warning, her doubts and regrets from the day before come crashing down on her in full force. It's entirely overwhelming, and without realizing it, she leans further back into the sink, trying to put even the slightest distance between them.

"I'm sorry for just showing up like I did," the words spill out quickly. "Yesterday was…it wasn't a good day, and I wasn't in a good place, and I just…" she shakes her head, still struggling to find the right words.

She takes a deep breath before continuing, "Thank you for lunch, and last night. I – I really appreciate it, but…I should get out of your hair soon."

He's been quiet the entire time, letting her ramble, but as she turns to walk away, he doesn't move his arms, instead continuing to hold her in place.

"Livvie," he starts, unable to stay silent any longer, "you don't need to leave if you don't want to."

"I wouldn't want to bother you anymore –"

"Olivia." His tone is more forceful, and she bites her lip as his hand lifts her chin. His gaze is intensely serious as he slowly speaks, " _This_ , all of this, is yours. I meant it then and I mean it now."

And in that moment, it no longer feels like pretend. It no longer feels like a hidden fantasy, tucked away just out of her reach.

It feels real. Too real.

Her breath catches in her throat. The reality of this – of being here with him – is entirely too difficult to reconcile with the reality she's lived for the past several months.

Playing pretend is easy, letting herself forget with him while the rest of the world is held at bay is simple. But what he's offering, to be really here – to be truly present with him, while the full knowledge and responsibility of her actions weighs so heavily on her – it's difficult.

It makes her feel too open, too exposed, like someone's suddenly shone a light on the dark crevices of her soul she's tried so hard to keep hidden to herself.

And suddenly, it's all so overwhelming and unnerving that she needs him to know – needs him to see all of her the way only he ever has.

"I did something," She starts then stops, taking a deep breath. "I did something that I thought needed to be done, but…"

She closes her eyes, finding it difficult to work through the pool of emotions tainted by memories of the day before. When she opens them again, she finds that he's staring at her patiently, no hint of judgment on his face, and it soothes some of the tension coiling in her stomach.

"I ordered a man's death yesterday," it's harder to say than she expected, and she has to pause again, but his expression doesn't change, and it makes it easier for her to continue. "Someone was careless with handling something a few weeks ago," she sighs, "and this man, he happened to see something he shouldn't have, and it made him a potential threat, so we – I…"

She takes in another deep breath, wanting desperately to look away from him – to hide – but with his eyes fixated on her so intently, she feels that she can't.

"I made the smart call, but…I don't think it was the right one," she finally admits.

Saying the words aloud doesn't solve anything, but it still has an immense effect. The wall of pressure that's been building since the day before finally starts to crack.

And then, as the pieces slip away and all she's left with is the caustic sting of remorse, she whispers in a strangled voice, "I killed a man. I ruined a family."

The words sound so foreign falling from her lips, and it's what finally does it.

First one tear falls, then a second, and soon, she's finally, _finally_ letting herself cry the way she's needed to since yesterday.

He pulls her into his arms almost immediately, and it makes her sob.

She clings to him desperately, as his arms wrap tightly around her and he begins to sway.

"It's ok, Liv," he whispers into her hair, smoothing his hand up and down her back. "It's gonna be ok."

He repeats it over and over, and finally hearing the words makes her cry harder. She's not sure she can hold to him any tighter, but she tries anyway, wordlessly telling him what she realized the day before.

 _She needed this. She needed him._

She's not sure how long they stay like that. But eventually, he lifts her and carries her to a couch, sitting with her in his lap. He strokes her hair as her cries finally start to quiet, whispering soothing words into her ear.

* * *

After a while, she's nearly asleep again, exhausted by her tears.

He continues to hold her tightly, running a comforting hand over her back every so often. As he listens to her breathing start to even out, he finds that he has to blink to clear the tears from his own eyes.

He doesn't know what he expected, but seeing her breakdown in that way makes his heart clench painfully. It's like a sucker punch to the gut, and every part of him hurts to see her so upset.

He's not sure what to say to make the situation better – if there is anything to say to make it better – and so, he does what comes naturally, letting her know that he's there, that he'll always be there for her.

The growing silence allows him to think over her words once more, and he sighs.

He doesn't know where she'll want to go from here, but he knows her well enough to recognize that something has to give. Yet, as much as he wants to keep her here, to simply whisk her away from it all, he also knows it's still not his decision to make.

When he thinks that she's fallen asleep, he stands and makes his way back up to the bedroom. But just as he leans down to place her on the bed, her arms tighten around his neck.

"No," she whimpers, and again his heart breaks to see her so clearly distraught.

"Ok, ok," he soothes, climbing into bed with her.

She lies against him, her head falling to his chest, and her arms adjust to stay wrapped around him. They both grow silent again as he holds her.

A long moment passes, and he's not sure she's even awake, but he still speaks, "I was thinking of trying to make waffles from scratch tomorrow. I just got this locally made maple syrup and it's incredible."

She doesn't say anything at first, and he's certain that she's asleep, but then she giggles quietly against his chest, and a small smile forms on his face at the sound.

He waits for a moment, before adding, "I think you'd really like it."

They both grow quiet, because it's an invitation. His ears practically strain against the silence as he waits for a response.

Suddenly, she moves from his chest and lies on his pillow, her face inches from his.

"I didn't pack a suitcase," she speaks quietly.

Taking it for a 'no,' he responds with a simple, "Oh," trying to keep the disappointment from his voice.

But then, she slides a hand onto his chest and leans her forehead onto his, closing her eyes.

"I was rushing so much I forgot." Her voice lowers practically to a whisper, "I just wanted to be here, I just…needed to be with you."

His entire body warms at her words. She so rarely allows herself to be vulnerable, and it touches something deep inside him whenever she does.

Gently, he cups her cheek with his hand, stroking it with his thumb.

When she opens her eyes, they're full of tears again.

"I don't know what to do," she admits, her voice shaky.

He wipes at a tear that escapes, and his chest tightens as he's overcome with a need to comfort her.

"We'll figure it out," he says, because he knows now that they need to and because he believes they really will.

"I don't want to go back," she sighs. "Not yet."

He can't deny the relief he feels at her words. He knows she needs time – that he needs time to help her – even if only another day.

He leans in to softly peck her lips. "You stay for however long you need."

Another few tears falling from her eyes and she returns his kiss, their lips lingering a moment longer this time.

When they pull apart, he wipes at her tears.

"Ok?" He asks, eyebrows raised slightly.

Slowly, she nods. "Ok."

They don't move for a long while, and he watches as her eyes start to drift closed. When he's sure she's sleeping, he quietly slips out of the bed and glances at the time on his alarm clock. It's only later afternoon, but something tells him that she'll sleep through the night.

He knows that there are still difficult conversations to be had and probably more tears to be shed, but that can wait for tomorrow.

Leaning down, he moves a few strands of hair that have fallen on her face, before pressing a kiss to her forehead and leaving her with a final whisper, "See you in the morning, Livvie."


	6. This Christmas

**A/N: Merry Christmas Eve Eve! I stayed up to finish this one because I couldn't get it out of my head, and I wanted it up before Christmas (so please excuse all the typos). Also, I just wanted to say thank you for all the encouraging comments and messages about In the Right Direction, I really appreciate them. The semester from hell is officially over and I have every intention of continuing the story, so I'm looking forward to getting the next update out soon. With that said, I hope ya'll enjoy my Christmas one shot, and (even if you don't) let me know what you think. Happy Holidays!**

* * *

"How nice of you to join us, Mr. Grant."

Fitz stifled a groan, shaking the last of the snow from his hair. "Yeah, yeah, I'm only," he paused dramatically, glancing at his bare wrist, "well it doesn't really matter how late I am, because I'm still here, aren't I?"

He glanced around the room once, taking in the disinterested stares of a handful of employees slouched on folding chairs inside the storage room of Madelyn's Toys and Trinkets. He nearly chuckled at their collective apathy, the mood a far cry from the exaggerated enthusiasm expected of them in the storefront. Eventually, his gaze settled back on his boss, and he didn't bother to hide his smirk as the older man grew red, his chapped lips starting to curl into a snarl when the storage room's door suddenly opened and closed again.

"And Ms. Pope," his boss snorted, shaking his head. "Showing up late already? Not the best way to make a good first impression."

Fitz watched as an unfamiliar woman emerged from behind him and took a step forward. In an instant, her petite frame grew impossibly straighter, her shoulders squaring and her head tipping up slightly, so that her springy bed of curls and coils fell a little lower on her back.

"Sorry, Mr. Casey, it won't happen again."

His ears perked at the sound of her voice, and he let his eyes linger on her hair for a moment, before they drifted to her profile. His breath hitched at the sight of smooth skin, high cheekbones and full lips, then spilled out in a long sigh as he scanned the rest of her body. She donned a beige sweater that seemed to make her skin glow and form-fitting dark jeans that made him bite down on his lip.

"Good. We already have one resident slacker," Mr. Casey's eyes cut to Fitz, "we don't need another."

Fitz blinked to clear his thoughts, then rolled his eyes. "Look, it's supposed to be our day off and we're here, so lay off a little, alright?"

"Grant, you have one more comment before I –"

"Oh come on, Rob, you and I both know you need me too much to do anything." He chuckled. "Who else is gonna get you those binders all the way on the top shelf in your office?"

The room filled with snickers, and Fitz felt a particular surge of pride as he watched the woman in front of him bite down on a grin.

"Alright, quiet down," Mr. Casey warned sternly, "before I replace your assess with some of those high schoolers who applied the other day."

"Minors?" Fitz tsked disapprovingly. "That means less hours and no unpaid overtime. You'd be out of business in months."

Again, a low murmur of chuckles passed through the room. Mr. Casey raised a silencing hand and clenched his jaw. "Fine, since you've decided this needs to be difficult, I'll make it quick." He pointedly pushed his glasses back up from the tip of his nose and glanced down at the papers clenched in his hand.

"Now, as I was saying before the interruption," he glared once more at Fitz, "we need two volunteers to deliver toys to the Jenkins and Kelly event a week from today. Their office charity drive didn't go as planned with all the layoffs and pay cuts, so I promised Mr. Jenkins, myself, that Madelyn's would donate toys this years."

Fitz crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

"Something you'd like to say Mr. Grant?"

"Nope, nothing," he shook his head, then tilted it to the side in faux contemplation. "Except that freely giving your services is oddly moralistic of you."

Mr. Casey's eyes narrowed for a moment, before a smirk suddenly tugged at the edge of his lips. "Well, if you feel that way, Mr. Grant, I'm sure you'll have no problem offering _your_ services. In fact," his gaze shifted slightly, "why don't you take Ms. Pope with you? You'll make up for the lost time, and we'll call it even."

Fitz scoffed. "If you wanna call it even, you owe me at least a month's salary worth of overtime."

"Keep it up, and the only thing I'll owe you is a pink slip," Mr. Casey shot back.

The moment Fitz opened his mouth to respond, a delicate hand gripped his arm. He looked down to see that it was her, his stomach flipping at the sight of dark, doe eyes staring up at him.

"It's fine," she spoke up. "We'll do it, we'll be there."

"Smart choice, Ms. Pope." Mr. Casey removed his glasses and rubbed them on his wrinkled button-down. "Maybe Mr. Grant can learn a thing or two from you." He paused, then squinted out at the room. "That's it. You all can go now."

The general rumble of annoyed murmurs and chairs sliding across the floor flooded the room, but Fitz's attention remained on the hand still grasping his arm and the brown eyes boring into his. After a moment, his lips seemed to part on their own, offering a quiet, "Hi."

She eyed him warily, then, with a hint of a smile, returned, "Hi."

Before he could think to say anything else, she quickly dropped his arm and Mr. Casey was suddenly behind him, slapping a hand to his back. "Glad that you two can represent us for such an important cause." Mr. Casey glanced between them, shoving his pointer finger in Fitz's chest. "Now, you better not screw this up, Grant, or else I'll make sure your mother knows about it, along with that fake missionary trip you took last April to spend three weeks chasing bikinis in Cancun."

"How the hell –"

"Don't worry," he patted Fitz's chest patronizingly, "I have my ways. Just make sure you stop by early on Sunday to change into your costumes before you head over with the toys. The event starts at noon, be there for eleven." And with that, he was gone.

Fitz could feel the scowl on his face deepen as he watched Mr. Casey leave, a pep in the man's step and a whimsical whistle drifting from his puckered lips. If there was anything he had come to hate in his twenty-seven years more than a bossy Rob Casey, it was a smug Rob Casey. He turned sharply to the woman in front of him, his eyes narrowing. "You should have let me deal with him, I could've gotten us out of this."

Her face changed quickly at his caustic tone; her eyebrows knotted and her lips drooped into a small frown. "Or you could've gotten us fired."

He waved a dismissive hand. "He can't fire me. My mom owns the place. It's been in the family for generations."

Her eyes widened with realization, and he could feel a prideful smile forming on his face. Madelyn's was a relatively well-known hallmark in an otherwise unremarkable town just outside the city. Decades of offering handcrafted novelties and "toys created with care" – as their motto boasted – had made the store a beloved site for locals and, more importantly, a prime attraction for tourists. With all the foot traffic it generated, especially around the holidays, Madelyn's was long hailed as a town trademark and, thus, his family was seen as something akin to Dover Hook royalty. But, given that the store's roster of employees consisted of a revolving door of town locals, Fitz rarely found the opportunity to share his prominent lineage with someone new. That was, until now.

But, to his surprise, she only scoffed and mumbled just loud enough for him to hear, "Oh, well that explains it."

His smile immediately faltered. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged. "It's why you get away with doing whatever you want."

It was his turn to scoff. With furrowed brows, he defended, "You're really gonna stand there and tell me you don't think Casey deserved any of that?"

"Oh, he definitely did," she let out a humorless laugh, "but there's no way in hell I'm gonna lose a paycheck over your right to exercise freedom of nepotism."

 _Who did this woman think she was?_

He glared at her, ignoring the way her brazenness made the hairs on the back of his arm stand up. "You have no idea what you're talking about, you don't even know me."

"You're right." She glared right back, taking a step closer. "And I think I'd like to keep it that way. So let's make Sunday as quick and easy as possible. Meet me here at nine."

"Ten," he corrected. "You can bring the coffee." He flashed a grin, and she rolled her eyes.

"Nine-thirty, and don't be late." She started to walk away as soon as the words left her mouth.

He stood and simply watched her until she made it to the door, suddenly calling out after her, "Last I checked, you got here even later than I did. So why don't you just worry about getting yourself here on time."

To his surprise, she paused at the door and slowly turned around, donning a sweet smile that made his insides warm. Then, with a move equally as gracious as it was shocking, she raised her hand to reveal her middle finger, all before promptly exiting the building.

Fitz stood in place, stunned by their exchange. After a moment, a wide smile practically split his face in two. Whoever the hell she was, she was sure to be a pain in his ass come Sunday. And he looked forward to every second of it.

He made his way to the door, replaying the last few minutes on a loop, his smile growing impossibly larger until his thoughts circled back around to one particular detail.

 _Had Casey mentioned something about costumes?_

* * *

Olivia huffed as she pulled at the striped red and white tights practically cutting off the circulation in her legs. If she had known this was the shit she'd have to put up with, maybe she would have let Grant – or whatever the hell his name was – get them out of it. She shook her head, as the mere thought of his blue eyes and crooked grin flooded her stomach with butterflies. She didn't have an interest in meaningless attractions, especially not where it concerned the son of her boss's boss. And especially not when said conceited son was putting her job in jeopardy by being fifteen minutes late.

At twenty-four, she certainly hadn't intended to spend the holiday season picking up shifts at some toy store, particularly not when a long-planned art exhibit had recently helped her make a decent buck off of some paintings from her earlier days in art school. She was in a good place, but because she couldn't only think of herself anymore, she needed a steady source of income. She had come across the job listing for Madelyn's only two weeks before and thought it a perfect fit; though a little out of the way, it wasn't too far from home, and their specializing in handcrafted stock instantly caught her attention. She figured the job would be easy enough, maybe even enjoyable.

But as she glanced at the mirror hanging next to a display of santa hats and antler headbands, and cringed once again at her reflection, she couldn't help but think that her assumptions had been entirely off. Her fingers toyed with the tacky red trim lining the bottom of the costume's green velveteen dress, and she smoothed a hand over the gaudy black belt buckled at her waist, frowning as its glitter rubbed off on her fingers.

"Well, don't you look adorable."

She jumped at the sound of his voice, feeling her cheeks heat as she turned to face him.

"You're late," she accused in hopes of covering her embarrassment.

"Nope," he shook his head, "pretty sure I'm early."

"We said nine-thirty."

"No." He took a step closer, and she immediately wished he hadn't. She was hit at once by the woodsy scent of what she assumed to be either his body wash or cologne, and she breathed in deeply despite herself.

"You said nine-thirty," he continued, quickly pulling her from her thoughts. "I said ten."

"Well you need to hurry up and get changed, the ride's half-an-hour to the firm and that's without traffic."

He chuckled, looking her over. "As cute as it looks on you, I think I'm gonna opt out of the whole costume thing." She didn't get a chance to respond, because he quickly lifted his hands, showing off two cups. "But I'm still a team player. See, I even picked up the coffee."

He handed her a cup before she could refuse. She stared at him for a moment, then took a sip, her eyebrows rising in surprise as she pulled it back from her lips.

He grinned proudly. "I guesstimated your cream to sugar ratio. I got it right, didn't I?"

She tried and failed to conceal a smile as she glanced at the cup again. "Yeah, but you got my name wrong."

He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck, his expression surprisingly sheepish as he spoke, "I only knew that your last name was Pope."

She narrowed her eyes, still confused at the name on her cup. "So where'd Francis come from?"

"You know...Pope?" he prompted, shrugging his shoulders, "As in _the_ Pope, Pope Francis?"

A beat passed, then she laughed harder than she intended to, his chuckles echoing closely behind.

"You must be fun at parties," she quipped sarcastically in between giggles.

"Is that an invitation?" He recovered smoothly with a smirk.

She cleared her throat. "Trust me, if it was, you would know." She took a sip from her coffee, gesturing to it as she added, "Thanks."

He nodded. "No problem."

"Now," she reached down for a plastic bag by her foot, keenly aware of his eyes on her as she did so, "here's your costume."

She held it out to him, but he only stared at the bag in disdain.

"I thought we already decided I wasn't wearing it."

"You said you weren't," she grinned, happily throwing his logic back at him as she all but shoved the bag into his hands. "I say you are."

He glanced at the bag, then back at her, clearly still not convinced. "Yeah? And with what authority?"

"None, really." She pretended to think. "But Mr. Casey did mention something about fake missionary trips and Cancun –"

His gaze hardened into a glare. He grasped the bag tightly and started to make his way to the employee bathrooms in the back of the store, mumbling under his breath, "The real Mrs. Claus would never threaten anyone like that."

She stared after him incredulously, shaking her head as she corrected, "It's an elf costume –"

"Same thing," he called back, pointedly slamming the door shut.

When ten minutes passed and he still hadn't come out, she sighed and made her way to the bathroom. She knocked, waiting for an answer before calling out, "Hey, you almost ready?"

He was silent for a long moment before groaning loudly. "I am _not_ wearing this in public."

"Oh come on," she laughed, "you already saw mine. I'm sure it's not that bad."

"No, I'm telling you, Francis, this is bad," he whined, "like middle-school-Halloween-party bad. I'm not going."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mr. Grant –"

"Please, you made me put on tights, we're way past that Mr. Grant crap."

Stifling another laugh, Olivia knocked again. "We can officially exchange pleasantries on the way there. Come on, we have to get going."

The door suddenly opened, and she couldn't contain her laughter any longer. Her eyes fell first on brawny legs sheathed in tights, one leg green and the other red, before they took in a similarly colored polyester tunic cinched by a rope belt, replete with bright green pom-poms lining its collar.

Her laughter grew louder as she noticed the look on his face, his lips jutted out in a sad pout and his eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

"That…is...amazing," she got out between gasps.

His expression morphed into a full-blown scowl. "You're one to talk, Tinkerbell."

She tried to catch her breath, holding a hand to her stomach. "That...that one...didn't even make sense."

He took a step back into the bathroom and nearly shut the door again, when her hand shot out to stop it. "Wait, wait. Ok, I'm sorry."

"Apology not accepted," he mumbled, crossing his arms.

She wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes and sighed. "Well, I don't really care." She mimicked his stance, crossing her own arms. "We need to leave, now."

They stared one another down for a full minute before he finally huffed, "Fine," and stepped out of the doorway. "We'll load the toys in your car and then we'll –"

"I don't have a car, we'll have to take yours," she declared casually and started making her way back out to the front.

"Wait," he reached for her arm, and her breath caught at the sudden warmth she felt at the contact. "That's not gonna work."

Shaking her arm free to regain her composure, she eyed him confusedly. "What, why?"

"I drive a Porsche, and there's no way both of us are gonna fit in there with all those toys."

They both glanced at the three large bags full of toys resting by the front door.

Olivia bit down on her lip, considering them for a moment. "We could –" she was surprised to find his stare on her instead of the bags when she turned back around and cleared her throat. "I mean, I could drive them over, and you could take an uber or something and meet me there –"

"Absolutely not," he chuckled dismissively. "If anyone's driving, it's gonna be me."

She rolled her eyes. "We're already behind schedule. I live a few blocks over from the firm and know some shortcuts. I can get the toys there in half the time."

"Yeah, and so can my GPS." He started walking to the bags. "Look, I'm not just letting some stranger take my $200,000 car to go on a joy ride –"

"Oh please," she quickly followed behind, "I'm not _taking_ anything, and if I wanted to go on a joy ride, it'd be in something that doesn't scream 'I've never actually worked a day in my life'—"

"Funny, you're very judgmental for someone who still doesn't have a ride."

A flurry of movement outside caught her attention, and she squinted to get a better look. After a moment, her eyes widened with realization and she couldn't keep the grin off her face. "By the looks of it, neither do you."

"What?" He raised his eyebrows questioningly. She nodded once to direct his gaze outside, and his head whipped around quickly.

They both watched as a tow truck began to haul off a shiny black Porsche.

"No, no, no," he cried out. Within seconds, he practically tripped over his feet to rush outside and wave the tow truck down. She looked on as he spoke with the driver, gesturing widely and whipping out his wallet. The driver merely shook his head and pointed at a number painted on the side of the truck before climbing back inside.

He watched it pulled off, a full minute passing before he trudged back inside with slumped shoulders and a resentful grimace.

"Are you happy now?" He frowned at her.

"I believe the word is amused," she giggled, making his frown deepen. "Hey," she held up her hands innocently, "not my fault you don't know not to park in front of a hydrant."

He ran a hand over his face. "Fine. It's fine," he sighed forcefully. "We'll both just take an uber there. Then as soon as it's over, I'll pick up my car from the lot. No big deal."

"Except, it's too late to take an uber." She was already one step ahead, glimpsing at the app on her phone. "The wait time is fifteen minutes – that's ridiculous, does anyone even live out here?"

He walked over to glance over her shoulder. "I don't see the problem. This thing doesn't start until noon."

He tried to tap the screen, but she quickly moved it from his reach. "But we're supposed to be there for eleven," she reminded, turning around to fix a glare on him. "That's exactly why I said to be here for nine-thirty."

"Don't blame this on me. I got you coffee, and my car just got towed. I'm the victim."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." She rubbed her temples. "Maybe if you had gotten here on time, you would've found a legal parking spot. You literally have no one to blame but yourself."

His jaw tensed, his mouth opening and closing several times before suddenly settling into an amused smile.

"I'm sorry," he chuckled. "I can't take you seriously in that costume."

Her lips pressed together in annoyance, she looked him over slowly; then, in spite of herself, she retorted with a smirk, "I could say the same for you."

"I don't know," he looked himself over, "I actually think I'm making it work. It's grown on me."

He returned his attention to her with a proud smile, and she couldn't help but smile back. He held her gaze for a moment, just long enough for her to notice an affectionate glow in his eyes that hadn't seemed to be there before.

She sucked in a deep breath and took a step back.

"Well, I'm glad," she spoke, ignoring the dryness in her throat. "That means you won't mind getting on the train like that."

"Oh no, I don't think so." He shook his head. "We are definitely not taking the train."

Olivia checked the time on her phone. "There should be one leaving in about ten minutes, and the ride takes only half the time it does to drive. We'll get there with time to spare."

"Look, I'm sure it'll be fine if we're a few minutes late –"

"Nine minutes and forty seconds. Come on, you can grab the bigger bags and I'll take that one –"

"Did you hear me? We're not taking the train."

She grabbed the smallest bag of the three, hoisting it over her shoulder. "Nine minutes, seventeen seconds. You better hurry, I don't think you want to run with those." Not waiting for his response, she walked straight out the front door.

"We're not taking the damn train!"

* * *

"So, Rudolph, got anything for me in one of them bags?"

Fitz clenched and unclenched his fist for what felt like the hundredth time. He kept his eyes locked on the back of the seat in front of him, purposefully ignoring the taunts from a man sitting across the aisle several rows back. It was his fifth snide remark in the fifteen minutes since the train had left the station, and Fitz could feel his self-restraint wearing away.

To his surprise, he felt a lithe body lean over his, a field of dark curls suddenly appearing in front of his face as she angled herself toward the man.

"Yeah, a tip, maybe more hair on top of your head and less in your nostrils? And it's an elf costume, dumbass."

Fitz let out a laugh that stopped short the moment she started returning to her seat. He unintentionally breathed in deeply, catching the sweet scent of coconut and mint drifting from her hair, and shifted in his seat, suddenly acutely aware of how close they were.

He clenched his jaw, trying desperately to redirect his thoughts, when the same grating voice called out, "Hey, buddy, why don't you tell the little lady she better watch who she's talking to."

He turned around immediately, his eyebrows knotting. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. She needs to watch her mouth before –"

"Before what?" Without thinking, Fitz stood, stalking over to the man's seat.

"Now, boy, you need to go sit back down. I'm not trying to get in a fight with a grown man playing dress up," he snorted. "Just tell your little girlfriend she needs to keep her mouth shut –"

"She doesn't need to do a damn thing. But I know you need to show some fucking respect."

"Wait a second." The man stood abruptly. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to?"

"Ok, ok," the booming voice of the conductor suddenly cut through the growing tension. "Break it up." He pressed a hand to Fitz's chest, forcing him to take a step back.

Just as he got ready to protest, the train came to a stop and his adversary glanced out the window.

"You're lucky this is my stop." He grabbed his newspaper and glared at Fitz over the conductor's shoulder.

Fitz eyed him scornfully as he made his way off the train, nodding at the conductor before returning to his seat. He sat tensely for a moment until he sensed that he was being watched. He turned to see warm brown eyes observing him intently.

"You ok?" He asked instinctively.

She seemed surprised by the question and quickly nodded. "Oh, um, yeah." She looked down, playing with her hands. "I just – thank you." Her gaze met his again.

"Don't mention it." He smiled. "I was waiting for a reason to kick his ass."

It hit him then how impulsively protective he had felt in the moment, how quickly the need to defend her had obliterated the last of his restraint.

"Still, I appreciate it." She offered a soft smile, and he couldn't help but stare. He didn't realize she had spoken again until he noticed her outstretched hand.

"Huh?" He looked down at her hand then back up at her.

"Olivia," she repeated. "That's my name."

"Oh." He grasped her hand in his. "Fitzgerald, but everyone calls me Fitz."

She nodded. "Nice to officially meet you, Fitz."

Grinning, he held her onto her hand a moment longer than he usually would have.

"Likewise."

When their hands finally parted, she toyed with the trim on the bottom of her dress and glanced out the window.

"We'll be there soon," she noted absently.

His eyes remain locked on her profile as he responded, "Good. We'll get there on time, just like you wanted."

She turned back to him with a smirk. "Or, you know, just like we're supposed to?"

He shrugged. "That too."

They shared a grin, and Fitz tugged on his ear unintentionally – a nervous habit he thought he had kicked in high school. Simultaneously, he noted with curiosity the way she tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear before averting her gaze.

Clearing his throat, he decided to try to move the conversation along. "So, Olivia," he began, playfully over-emphasizing her name, "how have you liked working at Madelyn's?"

"I'd say it's too early to tell, but I'm wearing this and probably won't quit come Monday, so…"

They both laughed, and he reached over to toy with her sleeve, rubbing the flimsy material between his thumb and pointer finger.

"Yeah, I'd say this is as rough of an initiation as it gets," he teased.

"Well you're next in line to own the place and you're here with me." She poked at one of the pom-poms on his collar. "So, it can't be that bad, can it?"

"No," he started to pull his hand back, but then, impulsively, let it run down her arm, "I guess not."

Her lips parted, and he immediately settled his gaze on them.

" _The next station is New Plains_."

She stood at the announcement. "That's – um, that's us."

"Oh." He cleared his throat. "You were right, that was a lot faster."

"Mhmm," she hummed, seemingly preoccupied with securing the bags.

"Wait, let me –" he reached for them but paused as his hands brushed against hers. She looked up at him, appearing as stirred by the unexpected contact as he felt.

" _This is New Plains."_

The train eased to a stop.

"We need to –"

"Yeah."

"Ok."

"Ok."

* * *

"So, do you know exactly what we're supposed to be doing?" She was the first to speak after they had walked two blocks in complete silence.

"Honestly, not really," he chuckled, swinging one bag over his shoulder and tugging at his ear. After a moment, he continued, "Most of the time, we'd just deliver the toys straight to the community center or one of the shelters, but that was when my mom was still pretty involved in running things. Now, Casey's doing things his own way and I tend to expect the worst…"

"What's the deal with you two?" She asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Fitz groaned. "Don't get me started."

"Come on," she prodded. "I can't be properly initiated unless you let me in on all the longstanding feuds."

"Touche," he relented with a smirk. A beat passed before he started, "Long story short, my mom decided to take a step back from the store. Everything's still in her name, but she decided to let someone else actually manage all of it." He sighed. "Casey's her cousin and apparently he went to business school for a semester, so she thought he'd be a good fit."

She considered him for a moment, taking in his grimace.

"But what about you?"

"That's the same thing I asked," he scoffed, "but she said I wasn't ready to take over. Casey knows she still plans on passing it down to me, but that hasn't stopped him from trying to get it for himself."

"Were you ready to take over?"

She realized he was lost in thought and quickly reached out to grab his arm as he tried to step into a busy street.

"Thanks." He smiled sheepishly. He remained quiet for a while before continuing, "I thought I was. I mean, I got my MBA, I was practically raised in the shop –" he stopped himself short and shook his head. "But honestly, I wasn't that serious about any of it, and I think my mom knew that."

She hesitated, turning her next question over in her mind before finally deciding to go ahead and ask, "So, do you even want it?"

"You know," he tilted his head, "I didn't think I did."

"But?" She prompted, sensing there was more to it.

He paused, seeming to think. "Growing up, I had this thing for planes," he started. "I was obsessed with them, and my grandfather made it a point to make me one himself – no kits or anything – every year for my birthday. Then, he started teaching me how to do it, and the next thing I knew, we were having classes at the store every Saturday morning.

There was this kid from school whose dad was in the Air Force. He'd come every week, and I don't think I ever saw him happier than when he finished another plane. He had a whole collection to show his dad by the time he came home." Fitz sighed. "The classes stopped when my grandpa got sick, but I kept making the planes. I, um, actually made all the ones we brought today." He gestured to the bags.

"I think of that kid and my grandpa every time I make one, and it reminds me of why I love that place. It's like a second home to me, and it's done a lot of good for a lot of people. But seeing how Casey's managing things..." he frowned deeply, "he's gonna run it into the ground, and I don't think I can let him."

Olivia didn't realize she was staring until he turned to her and smiled shyly.

"Sorry, that was kind of long."

She quickly shook her head. "No, don't apologize. That was – I mean, wow."

He gasped. "Have I actually made Ms. Pope speechless?"

"Shut up." She scrunched up her nose and playfully punched him in the arm. "But seriously, you probably know that place better than anyone, and that's what your mom needs to see." After a moment, she added, "And kudos on your craftsmanship. I saw those planes and the details are just insane."

He blushed at the compliment and looked away.

Mimicking him, she gasped, "Have I actually made Mr. Grant blush?"

"Shut up," he pitched his voice higher to imitate hers and stuck out his tongue.

They both fell into a fit of laughter that died down as they stopped in front of a large office building.

"Well, we made it," Olivia sighed.

"That, we did." Fitz lowered the bags to relieve his arms and lightly bumped her shoulder with his. "Good call on the whole train thing."

"It was, wasn't it?"

Grinning, she took a step towards the building when he suddenly called, "Olivia?"

"Hmm?" She turned around and was surprised to see his expression so serious.

Eyes wide and piercing, he stepped closer to her and spoke with a low voice, "I just wanted to say... I've never really spoken about that – you know, the store and everything – with anyone, so thank you for listening."

She had suspected he hadn't opened up about it much before, but something about his admittance made her heart flutter. She swallowed the unexpected rush of affection and joked, "Well, it wasn't as exciting as taking the Porsche for a joy ride, but..." he chuckled and she smiled softly, "you're welcome."

* * *

"Perfect, you're right on time!" The moment they stepped inside, they were greeted enthusiastically by a thirty-something-year-old with one hand glued to his phone and the other to his bluetooth.

"We are," Fitz retorted with his own faux excitement, earning a half-serious, half-amused glare from Olivia.

"And those costumes are – well, it's great you're already in costume!"

Fitz leaned down to her ear, muttering, "I told you they were middle-school-Halloween-party bad."

"Shh." She narrowed her eyes at him.

"So," their designated host continued, "Roger is in the bathroom putting on the Santa suit and the photographer's getting here around a quarter-to-twelve. In the meantime, we can get everything set up so that we can wrap up these pictures as fast as possible and send you on your merry way," he guffawed at his own puns, making both Fitz and Olivia cringe.

"Question, Mr…"

"Oh, I'm sorry how rude of me." He hastily tucked his phone into a pocket and stuck out his hand. "Alan Rye."

"Olivia Pope." She shook his hand, yanking hers back when his grip got a little too tight. "Question, Mr. Rye –"

"Call me Alan, Mr. Rye is my son of a bitch father."

She exchanged an incredulous glance with Fitz before returning her attention to him.

"Well, Alan, I think we just wanted to know when are the kids coming?"

"The who?" He looked genuinely confused, and Olivia sent a look of exasperation Fitz's way.

Immediately, he stepped in, clarifying, "You know, the kids who are getting the toys? Mr. Casey said we had to be here for the 'event', so are they coming after the photographer, or –"

"Oh, no," Alan laughed, shaking his head. "I guess he wasn't clear. The event _is_ the photo-op." He lowered his voice dramatically. "I'm sure you've heard of all the negative attention we've gotten recently, what with all the cuts and layoffs around the holidays. I contacted Mr. Casey and he agreed to partnering up; Madelyn's provides the toys, we provide the publicity, and everyone benefits from a few flattering write-ups in some local newspapers."

He leaned back and offered a sly smile. "The toys are actually going to a good cause, of course – some shelter, I think – we just won't be delivering them personally."

By the time Alan finished, Fitz could feel his blood boiling. He stepped closer to him with a hardened stare.

"So, you're telling me this whole thing is just one big stunt?"

"Well, that's putting it not so nicely –"

"I don't give a –"

"Look, Alan," Olivia quickly intervened, "I don't think that's really what either of us had in mind."

"Well, your boss did," he said with a stiff smile. "So why don't we just go get everything set up?" He walked away without waiting for a response, all but demanding that they follow behind.

Just as Fitz was ready to yell after him, Olivia placed a hand on his arm, whispering, "Don't."

He huffed. "See? This is exactly why Casey shouldn't be running things, this whole setup is…"

"Ridiculous, I know." She rubbed his arm soothingly. "But, at least something good is still coming out of it, right? The toys are still going somewhere."

"Yeah, but a photo-op? That's not us, Olivia, that's not what we do."

He glanced down to see that she was looking at him with soft, sympathetic eyes and a warm smile.

"And that's why you'll do such a good job when you're in charge."

He couldn't hold his smile at the comment, a spark of genuine confidence blazing through him for the first time in a long time.

"I hope you're right."

She locked her pointed gaze with his. "I always am."

"Oh, there's our Santa," Alan's cheery voice echoed across the lobby. "Now where are our elves with the presents? We're working with time constraints, people!"

Fitz exhaled angrily. "I might kill him before this is over."

"Trust me, if you don't I will."

* * *

"I never want to smile again." Fitz groaned, massaging his cheeks.

"You and me both." Olivia slumped against the wall, pulling her hair up into a bun.

"And that's a wrap." Alan moved from behind the photographer's shoulder for the first time since she had arrived and made his way over to them. "Great job guys."

"Yeah, we can go now, right?" Fitz asked bluntly.

Obviously taken aback, Alan attempted to mask his surprise with a phony chuckle.

"A little eager, are we?" He glanced down at his phone, typing for a few seconds then returning his attention to Fitz. "Well, that was my boss and he said things look good, so you're free to go. Can I offer you something for the road?" He looked them both over, proposing with a sarcastic smirk, "Cookies? Toys?"

Before Fitz could think to respond, Olivia stepped forward. "Actually, I do have one request."

Minutes later, Fitz watched with raised eyebrows as Olivia looked through one of the bags. "I don't think he was serious about taking a toy," he teased.

Olivia ignored him, pulling out one of the planes and holding it in front of her face to inspect it. "Perfect." She smiled.

He chuckled. "I know you gave me my props, but I didn't think you liked the planes that much. I can always make you another –"

"It's not for me," she cut him off with a roll of her eyes. She looked it over for a moment longer. "I know you have to get back and get your car," she taunted, "but, what would you say about another quick stop?"

"It depends." He pretended to think. "This isn't gonna be some weird kidnapping situation, is it? Because I have people who'd come looking for me –"

"Shut up." She grinned and grabbed his hand absentmindedly, leading him back out to the lobby. "Bye, Alan," she called over her shoulder.

Alan waved halfheartedly, already immersed in another phone call.

Olivia continued guiding him outside until they stopped at a corner, then, seeming to realize what she was doing, quickly dropped his hand. Fitz took the opportunity to watch her. She looked away, appearing embarrassed and raising a hand to tuck some loose strands that had fallen from her bun behind her ear. But before she could, he lifted his own hand, brushing the few stray curls back.

She froze, and he immediately regretted it. His face heated and he quickly dropped his hand back to his side. They stood side by side, an uncomfortable tension settling between them. Then, before either recognized it was happening, his hand was next to hers. Slowly, hesitantly, her fingers brushed against his.

The light turned red, but before she could step into the street, Fitz released the last of his nerves with a sigh and reached for hand. A long moment passed, his body growing tenser by the second, when she suddenly squeezed his hand.

"Come on." She smiled up at him. "It's only a few blocks away."

* * *

"This is your place?" Fitz asked as he watched her fumble with her keys.

"Yup."

"So this _is_ some weird kidnapping thing."

Olivia turned around, shaking her head at him. "I should've left you with Alan."

"On second thought, being kidnapped by you doesn't seem so bad," he playfully conceded.

"Well, I wouldn't be too sure about that."

She unlocked the door and leaned in, pressing against it with her shoulder to push it open. Within seconds, an excited voice called out repeatedly, "Liv!"

Olivia glanced back at Fitz and whispered, "Brace yourself."

A small body suddenly came flying around the corner, slamming into her legs at an impressive speed. She stumbled backwards, and Fitz immediately placed a hand on her back to steady her.

"Whoa, hey, buddy, miss me much?" She removed his arms so that she could kneel down to his level and quickly wrapped him in a hug.

"You're back." He squeezed her tightly.

Fitz watched silently, taking in the young boy. He looked to be around five or six, sporting what looked to be marker streaks on his hands and cheeks.

Eventually he pulled back from Olivia and smiled brightly at her. "I made you pictures," he shared, confirming Fitz's thoughts.

"I can tell," Olivia laughed and traced a blue mark on his cheek. "Are they on paper or just on you?"

He scrunched up his face in concentration. "I used orange and blue and, um, yellow paper, and my new markers and glue and, um..."

"Wow, you and Abby did a lot, huh?" She offered when he tapered off.

"Yeah," he nodded happily. "Abby made pictures, too, and she cut the paper for me, and we made cookies."

"What?" She gasped excitedly. "You did?"

"Yup." He looked her over, seeming to really take her in for the first time. Confusedly, he asked, "Liv, are you an elf?"

"Today I was." She poked his stomach, making him laugh. "I got to see Santa."

The little boys eyes lit up, and Fitz couldn't help but smile at the scene in front of him.

"You did?" He questioned in awe.

"Yeah, we did." She glanced back at Fitz, guiding the boy's gaze in his direction for the first time. His eyes widened as he took Fitz in, then focused back on Olivia. "And," she continued, pausing dramatically, "he gave us something to give to you."

Just as his mouth dropped open, a woman entered from one of the apartment's back rooms.

"Hey, Liv, sorry I was just washing the last of the dishes. Did Javi tell you we made –"

She stopped short when she noticed Fitz standing at the door.

"Oh, um, hey."

Olivia stood and stepped towards her friend.

"Abby, this is Fitz, a…friend from work," she introduced, turning to him as she added, "and Fitz this is Abby, my current lifesaver."

Abby laughed, shaking her head. "She's exaggerating, but nice to meet you." She walked towards him and offered her hand, eyeing him curiously as he shook it. She passed a not-so-subtle pointed glance to Olivia as she walked over to the couch. Turning back around, she looked them both over and stifled a laugh.

"So, how was playing –"

Olivia cleared her throat, and Abby glanced at the little boy staring up at them before correcting herself.

"I mean, how was _helping_ Santa?"

"Not what you would've expected," Olivia answered carefully. She and Fitz shared a grin, and Abby looked between them, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I'm going to head out." She grabbed her jacket hanging over the back of the couch. "I have a few errands to run before I go out with Leo."

She kneeled down to hug the boy. "Bye, Javi."

"Bye, Abby," he said sweetly.

When Abby stood again, Olivia smiled at her gratefully. "Thank you, Abby. I appreciate it, really."

"Anytime, Liv." Abby pulled her into a hug, using the opportunity to whisper in her ear, "If you're going to be naughty, it better be with him."

"Goodbye, Abigail." Olivia pulled away, narrowing her eyes at the woman.

"I'm just saying." Abby smirked and turned to Fitz. "See you around, Fitz."

He had watched the exchange curiously and smiled politely at Abby. "Nice meeting you."

The moment Olivia locked the door behind her, Javi was next to her.

"Liv?"

"What's up, little man?" She ran a hand through his short crop of hair.

"Are you gonna have to help Santa again?"

"Hmm, I don't think so," she guided him to the couch, and looked back at Fitz, silently inviting him over. "Why?"

He was quiet for a moment, then stuck his bottom lip out in a pout. "I don't want you to leave again."

Javi moved to her lap as soon as she sat down, resting his head against her shoulder.

"Aw, but didn't you have fun with Abby?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "But I want you here, too."

She rested her head atop his, and Fitz settled down next to them.

"Well, I'll have to go to work sometimes, and Abby will come back, but soon you'll be back at school, and you'll be out even more than I am."

Javi's pout morphed into a frown. "But I want us both to stay here."

"I know," she exchanged a sad smile with Fitz. "But we'll both be here at nights for story time, and in the mornings when you wake up…" She trailed off, realizing that with her changing shifts that wouldn't always be true.

Feeling compelled to step in, Fitz added, "You know, Liv has a really fun job. She gets to play with toys all day," he smiled as Javi looked up at him. "Maybe she can bring you in with her sometimes."

"Really?" Javi looked from him to Olivia.

"Yeah, really?" She repeated, her eyebrows raised in genuine curiosity.

He nodded. "I definitely think it can be arranged."

A small smile reemerged on Javi's face, and he looked Fitz over.

"Are you an elf, too?"

Fitz grinned. "Sometimes."

Javi's eyes locked on something to Fitz's side, and he realized it was the plane he had held for Liv while she took out her keys.

"Is that yours?" The young boy pointed, looking at it as if in a trance.

"Actually," Olivia joined in, "it's yours."

"Really?" His eyes immediately went wide.

Fitz smiled broadly at his excitement. "Well, Santa said we were supposed to give this to Javi –"

"I'm Javi!"

"Then I think this is for you." Fitz handed him the plane, chuckling as he practically bounced off of Liv's lap.

"And you know," Olivia leaned in next to his ear, "Mr. Fitz helped Santa make that, himself."

"Wow." Javi hopped down from the couch entirely and began waving it around. "Thank you, Mr. Fitz."

"You're welcome."

They both watched, enamored, as Javi began to zoom around the room.

"This is so cool," he exclaimed as he stopped in the middle of the room and examined his new toy closely.

"Yeah? Maybe Mr. Fitz can show you how to make them sometime," Olivia suggested.

He gasped. "I wanna make one! Can I?"

They both turned to Fitz, and instantly, he understood why Olivia had invited him over. She couldn't contain her smile as she watched the realization wash over him.

"Yeah," he nodded, "I'd love to show you how."

Javi went back to play-flying his plane, and Olivia gently nudged Fitz with her elbow.

"See? Casey's got nothing on you."

He observed her, momentarily overwhelmed by a wave of affection.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice surprisingly strained by emotion. He rested a hand on her knee and ran his thumb over it.

"Thank _you_ ," she gestured toward Javi, placing her hand over his.

"Liv?" Javi suddenly called out.

"Yeah?"

"I'm hungry."

* * *

"Impressive selection." Fitz chuckled, eyeing a cabinet full of Chef Boyardee.

"I've been told I'm quite the chef." She peered over his shoulder.

"By anyone over the age of five?" He turned to her, their faces close enough for their foreheads to almost touch. His eyes fell to her lips, and she swallowed, taking a step back.

A beat passed before she spoke again, "No need," she dismissed, "Javi's opinion is the only one that matters."

Fitz smirked. "That's fair, he's a cool little kid." He considered her for a moment, before asking what was really on his mind, "So, what's the relation between you two?"

She nodded, having expected the question to come at some point. "I'm his legal guardian...for now."

"Oh." Fitz rocked on his heels, and she could tell he was curious to know more.

"I sometimes teach art classes at the community center," she started. "Javi's dad brought him in a lot, and we started talking. I found out his mom passed away a little after he was born, and his dad had pretty much raised him on his own. He was juggling two jobs, so I offered to help out – you know, get him to and from the center, babysit if he needed."

She lowered her voice suddenly, "A few months ago, I noticed that things weren't exactly right. His dad lost one of his jobs, and Javi stopped coming around. I found out a little while later that they were staying at one of the local shelters. I spoke to his father, gave him a spare key and told him to stay here until he got back on his feet. He told me he wouldn't be able to, that he was living with untreated PTSD and needed help he couldn't get because he had to take care of Javi. So," she sighed, "I promised to watch after Javi while he enrolled in the best rehabilitation center we could find."

Fitz released a breath, finding himself in awe of the woman before him.

Filtering through an onslaught of thoughts, he eventually asked, "How has the transition been?"

"A little rough," she admitted. "Javi's starting to take it a lot better though, he's just a little clingy, but it's completely understandable. And his dad's a lot better, too." A proud smile lit up her face. "In fact, Javi's going up to spend Christmas with him. Of course, I'll be alone," she laughed, "but it's for a great reason."

Before Fitz could respond, Javi appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"Liv, I'm done," he grinned. "I flushed and washed my hands."

"Good job, buddy," she smiled at him. "Now what did you want to eat?"

"Um, a sandwich please."

She turned to Fitz. "And for you, sir?"

"I wouldn't want to choose something too outside your wheelhouse." He feigned consideration. "I'll just go with beefaroni."

"Oh, I want beefaroni, too, Liv."

She bent down to Javi's level and raised an eyebrow. "So you want a sandwich and beefaroni?"

He shook his head. "No, I just want beefaroni, like Mr. Fitz."

"Well," she stood back up and playfully eyed Fitz, "I'll see what I can do."

Seven minutes later, three steaming bowls of beefaroni sat on the kitchen table. Javi immediately dove in, and Fitz followed not too long afterwards. Olivia watched both of them, barely containing a laugh as both managed to get sauce on their chins within seconds of each other. She quickly swiped Javi's face with a napkin, then turned to Fitz, who seemed just as equally oblivious.

"Fitz…"

He stopped eating, looking up with wide eyes.

"You have –" she gestured to his chin, unable to stop her laughter from spilling out.

"What?" He squinted his eyes in confusion, and she could only laugh harder.

"Here." She finally reached over when she regained her composure. One hand held his chin, while the other dabbed at it with a napkin.

He turned red with embarrassment, but quickly recovered and stared at her intently. Her movements slowed, until she lowered the hand holding the napkin and simply held his chin. Her face heated, and, in an instant, he was moving closer.

She could feel his uneven breaths hitting her face, when Javi suddenly called out,

"Liv?"

"Yes?" She practically blurted out, quickly turning to face him.

"Are you gonna eat yours?" He was still completely focused on his own bowl, scraping at the bottom for the last it had to offer.

"Uh – no, you can have it if you want. I'll make myself something else a little later."

"Ok, thank you."

"Of course." She nodded, keenly aware of Fitz's gaze still on her.

* * *

"So, this was nice," Fitz said as they made their way to the front door.

"It was…" Olivia followed behind, trying pointlessly to maintain some semblance of distance between them.

"Liv, can I go play with my puzzles?" Javi asked from the couch.

"Sure, just make sure to do one at a time so you don't mix up the pieces."

"Ok." He slid off the couch and made his way over to Fitz, unhesitatingly giving him a hug. "Bye, Mr. Fitz. Thank you and Santa for my plane."

Fitz grinned. "Bye Javi. And you're welcome."

They both watched him walk down the hallway and disappear into a room.

"You're really good with him," Fitz noted, returning his attention to Olivia.

"So are you." She couldn't deny how touched she had been by his attentiveness to Javi.

Suddenly, a painting hanging on the wall by the door caught his attention, and he took a step closer to examine it.

"Wow," he let out a low whistle, "where'd you get this from?"

"My living room," she shrugged, "I painted it."

He turned to her, his eyes wide and disbelieving. "No way."

"It's the truth," she giggled, pointing to the bottom right corner. "That's my signature, right there."

He squinted at it, turned to her, then looked back at it again.

"Wait a second." He leaned in closer. "Have you sold any paintings recently?"

"Yeah, a few weeks ago, actually."

He leaned back and looked at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

"What?" She shifted under his gaze.

Shaking his head, he explained, "My mom bought one of your paintings and has been talking about it non-stop. O. Pope – Olivia Pope, I don't know how I didn't put that together."

"Are you serious?"

"As the heart attack that'll probably take me out."

She rolled her eyes. "Fitz –"

"Ok, yes, I'm serious." He chuckled.

"That's...amazing." She beamed.

"It is." He smiled just as broadly. "She's been saying she wants some artwork for the store. I bet she'd commission you without a second thought."

"That would be great." She grew excited at just the thought. "You'd better watch out. I might steal your spot in a second," she joked. "I'm known to charm."

"Trust me, I know," he muttered, still loud enough for her to hear, and tipped his head back.

He froze suddenly, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Fitz? What's wrong, did you throw out your back or something?"

"No," he scoffed and lowered his head. "I just – never mind," he pulled on his ear, "it's stupid."

"What?" She followed his gaze, going still herself as she noticed the mistletoe dangling on a hanging lamp. "Oh," she tried to cover her surprise with a laugh, "Javi and Abby must've done that earlier."

When she lowered her gaze, she was surprised to find Fitz suddenly so close to her.

"Rules are rules," he spoke lowly, his sarcasm laced with uncertainty.

Her heart thumped erratically as he looked her over, a purposeful gleam in his stare.

"Fitz," she breathed out.

It only seemed to pull him in closer, as he lowered his head until he rested his forehead against hers.

"Liv," it came out like a plea, and they both understood what he was asking.

Her lips parted slightly and she breathed him in. Slowly, she rested a hand on the back of his head, running her fingers through the curls there. Then, before either had time to think, his lips crashed onto hers.

She sighed in relief, and he groaned softly at the feeling.

Quicker than either would have liked, they were pulling away, as Fitz's phone buzzed with a notification. He glanced at it, then scratched the back of his neck, still sensing the warmth of her fingers there.

He cleared his throat. "That's, uh, that's my ride."

"Oh." She nodded and licked her lips, still burning because of his. "Well, get home safe. I mean, get your car, then get home safe."

"Will do." He smiled softly, taking her in a final time. "See you around, Tinkerbell."

She watched him walk out the door, ignoring the impulse to follow after him.

"Still doesn't work," she called out as he started down the stairs. Closing the door, she touched a hand to her lips and sighed.

 _She'd have to thank Abby and Javi._

* * *

 _ **Christmas Day**_

Olivia dropped her paintbrush with a frustrated groan. She had decided to spend the day using her gift to herself – a few fresh canvases – but was having more than a little trouble figuring out exactly what to do with them. Usually, she could free paint her way out of a funk, but for the last week and a half, all her thoughts seemed to eventually circle back to one person alone.

They hadn't worked a single shift together since their trip to Jenkins and Kelly, and she still couldn't figure out if it was for the better. For as big of a pain in the ass as he had been, she had enjoyed his company. She couldn't shake the memory of how light he made her feel, or of how badly she had wanted to call him back up only minutes after he had left. But she didn't have his number and had no interest in getting it from one of her nosy co-workers.

Try as she might to deny it, she wanted to see him. And she'd have to sooner or later; Javi had already started asking regularly about when Mr. Fitz would teach him how to build a plane…

She was relieved when a knock on the door broke her train of thought. She needed a distraction, regardless of how suspicious she was of anyone at her door on Christmas day. She peeked through the peephole, and her breath caught immediately.

She rubbed her eyes, sure she was only seeing things when his voice suddenly called from the other side, "Hey, are you gonna let me in or not? It's freezing out here."

She swung the door open. "You're standing in a heated hallway."

"Well, you got me there," he grinned, "but I got you to open the door."

She took him in, still not entirely believing that he was there. He wore a hideous green and red striped sweater with a reindeer pasted on the front and blue jeans, carrying in his hands one carton of eggnog and a bottle of wine.

"Fitz, what are you…?"

"I remembered you said you were going to be alone for Christmas, and my mom took a trip with some girlfriends for the holidays, so I figured, we could be alone together." He looked her over. "I thought about bringing you an ugly sweater, but that smock will work."

Trying pointlessly to hide her excitement, she rolled her eyes. "I'd make you wait out here if you hadn't brought the good stuff."

She reached for the wine, but he quickly admitted, "Oh no, this is the cheap stuff. I picked it up for a dinner party that Casey's mom hosted, but I never actually went. I figured we could drink it while we watch a few of those Hallmark movies and it wouldn't seem so bad."

She shook her head, stepping aside to let him in. "You're ridiculous."

"But, I'm all the company you have."

"What a shame," she smirked, then quickly reached out for him before he could step too far inside.

"What, Tink?" He turned to her. "Can't you wait until I'm settled to bother me."

She pointed up, and they both glanced at the mistletoe still hanging in its spot. She smiled coyly, standing on her tiptoes so that her face was level with his.

"Rules are rules."


	7. Moments I: Yes

**A/N: Hey, is anybody out there? Lol, so I genuinely loved the finale and where things left off, it's like the gift that keeps on giving. I'm still trying to get over my grief (because, y'all, I really can't accept that my show is over) but I have a million ideas that I know I want to write at one point or another. I'm starting with this one shot that I think might have a few follow-ups if things go as planned. Also, update: In the Right Direction is coming, but I had to get this one out of my head and on the page first. Things are about to get hectic with finals, but I'm set to have a lot of time to write over the summer, so if y'all are still interested, look out for those relatively soon! Now with alllll of that said, thank you, thank you, thank you for all your reviews on past chapters / installments, they really do make my day and encourage me to keep going. Please excuse any typos because I'm uploading this at 4 in the morning, but that aside, I hope you enjoy my first (of hopefully several? many?) post-finale one shots and, even if you don't, let me know what you think.**

* * *

"Liv...Liv…"

She groans, rolling over to press her face into her pillow.

" _Liv_ ," he tries again, chuckling faintly.

A moment later, when she still doesn't respond, he rests a hand on her bare shoulder and begins to shake her lightly.

"Liv, I'm getting ready to head out."

At that, she finally turns back over, blinking against the sunlight that pours in from the windows.

"There you are." He smirks, sinking onto the edge of the bed.

"What time is it?" She glances around the room, still slightly disoriented. "Why are you leaving so early?"

Watching her, he traces his finger over the slope of her nose. "It's 9:30, not that early."

"Mmm it's late," she stretches, the soreness radiating from her lower back and between her thighs reminding her exactly why that is. " _You're_ late. Might get in trouble with the boss…"

"Well, I have it on good word that he had a very," he kisses her once, "very," twice, "good night."

She hums when he presses a kiss to her forehead and watches as he finally starts to stand.

"Is that so?"

He answers with a wide grin that she can't help but return, and, not for the first time in recent weeks, they find themselves unintentionally sharing a minute, quietly basking in the reality of getting to just... _be_.

At times, it still feels so surreal, and she suddenly has the urge to reach out to him, to touch him for confirmation of a reality she hasn't entirely settled into yet.

As if he's read her mind, Fitz reaches for the tie he left on the chair by the bedside and makes his way back over to her, holding it out for her to take. Immediately, she sits up on her knees and starts to tie it around his neck.

"So what are your plans for today?"

The question gives her pause, her movements slowing down as she thinks it over.

"I don't know yet," she finally answers.

"Hmm you sure?" He gently grips her chin and tilts her head up, halting her movements entirely. "That smile says otherwise. Got a hot date or something?"

She doesn't even realize she's smiling until he points it out, and, shaking her head, she leans up to peck his lips quickly.

"No hot date." She grins, then pauses. "I just...I guess I like not having anything planned. It's freeing."

 _Freeing_. It slips out before she even has a chance to think on it, and it feels nothing short of right. Instantly, she realizes it's the only way to really describe the past few weeks. Since the funerals – Cyrus' coming on the heels of David's, after the old bastard blew out the back of his skull with a revolver only days after his resignation – her regularly scheduled plans have consisted of little more than lunches with Abby and Sunday dinners with her father.

Although it was an adjustment at first, and she did make a habit out of hanging around QPA just a little bit longer than necessary when she'd drop Abby back off, she had come to genuinely enjoy having the time and space to clear her head. It was the break she needed – her "post-presidential vacation" Fitz had called it – while she considered her next move.

"I can tell." Fitz wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her in close right after she finishes with his tie. "You've been doing that a lot."

She tilts her head at his words, and he's quick to clarify.

"Smiling," he pauses, then chuckles to himself, shaking his head. "I don't mean you never smiled. It's just, you seem…"

"Happy," she finishes for him, laying her palms flat against his back. "And I am," she leans in to kiss him, "very," then again, mimicking his actions from earlier, "very," when she leans in again, he brings up a hand to cup her cheek, keeping her there longer. Eventually, they both pull away, but her lips still ghost over his as she finishes, "happy."

When she moves back slightly, he starts to run his thumb over her bottom lip, staring for a moment before he speaks again, "Come have lunch with me today."

It's not an unusual request, as they've had lunch together a few times at the foundation, and she's often picked up dinner for them to have on nights when he stays extra late, but still, she can't help but tease, "Are you _summoning_ me? Because I'm not –"

She doesn't know how she expected him to respond, but she's more than a little surprised when he suddenly pushes her back onto the bed, climbing on top of her in an instant.

"Fitz," she laughs, trying to push him off. He starts to rain kisses on her face as he rests more of his weight on her, pushing her further into the mattress. "Fitz, you're heavy!"

"Say you'll have lunch with me." Although he shifts so that not as much of his weight is lying on her, he remains relentless, still sloppily pecking her cheeks.

"Fitz, you're going to ruin your suit –"

"Have lunch with me."

"The very nice suit that _I_ bought you –"

"I'm not hearing a yes."

"Fitz!" She gives into her laughter, surrendering her efforts to try to move him. It takes her a few moments to recover enough to realize that he's no longer pressed against her but has leaned on his elbows so that he hovers over her slightly. When she's quiet again, she waits for him to say something, but he doesn't. He only continues to look down at her, his stare intense and his face unreadable.

Finally, she asks, "What?"

Her brows furrow when he blinks and she realizes that he's fighting back tears. Worried, she rests a hand on his cheek and begins to stroke it with her thumb.

"Fitz, what?"

He releases a breath, then smiles, leaning entirely on one side and raising an arm so that he can place his hand over hers.

"I just…" he shakes his head, "I love that you're happy."

His words catch her off guard, flooding her entire body with warmth in a way only he's ever been able to. She breathes in deeply and slowly guides his face back down to hers, pausing just before their lips can meet.

"You're going to be late."

"I'm already late."

"You're going to be _very_ late."

* * *

He is, in fact, very late. So late that only an hour after he leaves, she's arriving at the foundation to meet him for lunch.

"Hey, Natalie."

The receptionist's head perks up at her greeting, and she smiles, immediately reaching for a bag of takeout on the corner of her desk.

"Hi, Ms. Pope, perfect timing! The food President Grant ordered just got here. I was about to send it back to his office."

Olivia walks over to her desk, eyeing the bag.

"Is that from Benny's?"

At Natalie's nod, she grins and reaches for the bag. Just a few days before, she mentioned missing the hidden gem of a restaurant down the block from her old office. It had sustained OPA for years, becoming something like a tradition for their most grueling days. She vowed to introduce it to him one of these days, but it seemed he had beaten her to it.

The thought stretches her grin just a bit wider. In the past few weeks, they've had time to communicate in a way they haven't been able to in far too long, talking to each other about even the smallest things and actually _listening_. For once, there is no dire emergency that threatens to separate them indefinitely, no end-of-the-world crisis that throws them into fits of passion, then leaves them with no time to actually comprehend what's happening.

They don't just have minutes anymore, they have moments like this morning, that stretch into days and nights, and seem to give them all the time they never had.

"Thanks, Natalie."

She smiles gratefully at Natalie once more, lifting the bag and turning to leave. She only makes it a few steps when, suddenly, a flurry of yells rises from the main conference room, instantly capturing her attention.

Turning in the sound's direction, she glances through the room's glass walls. There, arguing amongst themselves, are five of the foundation's younger employees; two sit with their heads dropped in their hands, while the other three engage in an intense back and forth.

Something a little stronger than curiosity keeps her attention on them, and, before she entirely realizes it, she's making her way over to the room. By the time she's at the door, their shouts have started to die down, and only one of them – Simone, a recent hire she remembers personally helping Fitz decide on – is still talking. Olivia continues watching on in silence, none of them registering her presence until, suddenly, Simone gestures towards the wall behind her, guiding Olivia's gaze to the collage of pictures taped to it.

The sight makes her heart skip a beat.

A quiet gasp escapes and, in an instant, five pairs of eyes fall on her, all widening within seconds.

There's a surprised chorus of "Ms. Pope" in acknowledgment, and silence settles around them for a brief beat, before she can bring herself to ask,

"What's going on in here?"

She tries to keep her tone casual, not wanting her curiosity to come across as imposition. Still, they continue to look at her with wide eyes and a few faces flush in embarrassment.

One of them – Kenneth, if she remembers correctly – starts, "We were – we were just –"

Simone lets him stutter for a moment before jumping in.

"We're just having a little trouble with this case President Grant wants to take on."

She nods, and, despite every bone in her body telling her to stay, she decides to leave and let them go back to sorting out whatever it is they're having issues with. She looks down only to adjust the bag in her hand, but, when she looks back up, they all seem to be giving her a _look_.

Confused, she glances at each of them quickly, then, finally at Simone, whose eyes not so subtly dance back and forth between her and the wall of pictures.

 _Oh._

It's only then that she gets it.

 _They want her to help_?

Slowly, she steps further inside the room, finally letting herself actually look at the information they have laid out.

Only a moment passes before her mind starts running a mile a minute.

The case in question is that of Brianna Johnson, a young woman from Queens who was arrested nearly a decade ago. She was given twenty years with no chance of parole for a crime she had been accused of at the age of sixteen. Not only did the sentence seem entirely absurd, but the evidence that sent her away was anything but sound.

Positioned a little way off is a picture of the arresting officer and his father, and she instantly pieces together why they're getting stuck. Brady Hayes Jr. was the proud son of Brady Hayes Sr., New York City Police Commissioner, and while the connection between their relationship and Brianna's situation seems obvious, there were no actual links to prove daddy had pulled a few strings to help his darling son.

She doesn't realize Simone is talking until she breaks her gaze away from the pictures.

"...and I suggested that we could try looking into the judge again, see who else he's been in bed with."

"We already looked into him twice! He's as clean as they come."

"On paper! Obviously he's dirty. If he was willing to do this for Hayes this time, he's probably done it before…"

A few other voices join in, starting to talk over one another, but her attention falls on the wall again. She scans it until her gaze finally rests on the picture of Brianna sitting at the center. She stares until her name and face are burnt into her brain, until all her thoughts circle around a young girl being dealt a bad hand because of circumstances far beyond her control, because of a system that's been far too broken for far too long...

And then, it happens.

"Simone is right."

Although her voice is low, barely audible under all their arguing, it still silences the room immediately.

She can feel the buzz of adrenaline humming in her chest and vibrating in her veins, and it takes her a moment to finally realize what _this_ is. Her gut is working overtime, sparking the kind of full body invigoration that has sent her running full steam ahead so many times before. It's the most familiar high, and, yet, this time it's different. It's the drive to do something, to help someone that has so often made her feel like she was about to go over a cliff. Only, this time, it feels like she's standing at the bottom of the mountain, ready to climb and conquer, instead of dangling from the top, one misstep away from slipping off the edge.

"If they've done it once, they've done it again, and that can go for anyone involved. You start tugging at every loose end, look at every hand that so much as touched her file, and you'll find something…"

The words fly out of her mouth so quickly, it doesn't even feel like they're coming from her. One second, she's pointing out every possible link waiting to be exposed for other misdeeds, and the next, she's rattling off a list of contacts, naming documents they should get their hands on, and offering her own connections. By the time she's finished, half of them have left the room, running off to call someone or find something, while the others enthusiastically start to bounce ideas off of one another.

The air in the room suddenly feels electric, charged by the distinct fervor of chasing after a win – of chasing after the _right_ win – and she can't help but think that this is it. This is what was missing during those months at the White House and even long before then. This is what made her want to do what she did, what she dreamt of all those years in undergrad and law school, before the reality of politics colored her world gray.

"Ms. Pope?"

It takes her a moment to come out of her daze and realize they're asking questions, a lot of questions, but just as she starts to get comfortable, she catches sight of Fitz standing outside the room, watching them through the glass. When their eyes meet, he raises a questioning eyebrow, and she can't keep the smile from tugging at her lips as she shrugs. She starts to make her way to the door so that she can update him on the change of plans, but he quickly gestures for her to stay put, playfully shooing her off to go back to what she was doing.

She shakes her head and bites down on her lip to contain a laugh, watching as he flashes a final, wide grin, then heads back in the direction of his office.

Seconds later, Simone pushes a laptop in front of her, then quickly makes her way back over to the wall of pictures.

"Ok, so I was able to find the officer's sister, and you were right, there's definitely something there…"

As she continues, Olivia glances at the bag of takeout she set on the table. Without a second thought, she reaches inside and starts to set the food out.

 _It was definitely going to be a Benny's kind of day._

* * *

She doesn't make it into his office until several hours later, when almost everyone has gone home.

"Yes, well I just wanted to personally thank you again for your donation...lunch would be great. Ok, we'll be in touch…"

She slowly closes the door behind her, careful not to make too much noise.

"I'll let her know you said hello." He looks up, winking at her as she makes her way towards him. "Ok, goodbye, Mrs. Harding."

She walks around his desk and stops in front of his chair just as he hangs up. Immediately, he reaches for her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb as he grins up at her.

"Hi."

She smiles back. "Hi."

He continues staring at her silently, expectantly, and she glances at the glass door separating his office from the rest of the floor.

"We both know the only ones still here are Simone and Kenneth, and I'd bet just about anything that they're busy flirting in the copy room."

He doesn't give her the chance to think on it too long, tugging gently on her hand and urging her to lean down until her lips are on his.

She rests a hand on his cheek and slowly sinks into his lap, letting her guard fully down as she relaxes against him. He sighs at the contact and places a hand on her waist, pulling her in close. When they pull back, they're wearing matching, wide grins, and she can't help but laugh.

"Hi," she greets again.

"Hi." He leans in, nuzzling into her neck. "So I see you're running things around here now."

She laughs quietly, shaking her head. "I was just giving some advice."

He leans back with raised eyebrows. "Oh? Is that what the kids are calling it now?"

"Shut it, mister." She silences him with a peck that easily melts into a longer kiss.

When they pull back she stares at him, her face suddenly serious.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped today, I just –"

"Hey," he's quick to stop her, cupping her chin, "don't you dare apologize. I loved you helping out here today." He moves his hand to reach for the glass of scotch sitting on his desk, a habit from his days in the Oval that she knows has now become an occasional indulgence he tends to enjoy on late nights at the office.

"They haven't mentioned it to anyone, but I know this case has been giving them trouble. Marcus brought it to my attention a few weeks ago, and I wasn't able to stop thinking about it." He peers down at the liquid as he swirls it in his glass. "And these kids, Liv, they're smart. I mean, you looked over some of their resumes with me, you know why we hired them." He pauses to take a sip. "I didn't want them to just keep doing the busy work they've been doing. I figured this would be the perfect way to get their feet wet, but," he chuckles, "that didn't exactly go as planned."

"They just needed a little bit of direction." She easily slips the glass from his hand, taking a sip of her own before handing it back to him.

He watches her with a smirk. "They just needed _you_."

The moment she opens her mouth to dispute him, he shakes his head.

"Don't say it's not true, because it is. You're like a superhero to them."

"Their boss is the former president." She reaches for the glass again. "I'd think that would be a little more impressive."

He lets her take another drink, then places the glass back on his desk.

"Sure, they respect me and the whole former president thing took them some getting used to, but, Livvie," he pauses, considering her for a moment, "they idolize you."

"They do not –"

"Did you know they have an OP folder?"

"A _what_?"

"A _you_ folder, Liv. Newspaper clippings, pictures, transcripts of interviews you've done, notes on some of your old clients and work at the White House, you name it. Marcus said they keep it hidden in Simone's desk, but he's caught them consulting it a few times these past few weeks while working on the case."

"You're not serious," she furrows her brows, refusing to believe him.

"Oh, I absolutely am. I saw it for myself when they left it out in the conference room the other night."

A moment passes while she processes it all.

"An OP folder…" she shakes her head, still struggling to find her words, "That's...it's –"

"Genius," Fitz happily supplies for her.

She narrows her eyes at him, and he smirks.

"It's actually pretty comprehensive, I was impressed. It could've been really useful when I was in the Oval."

Laughing, she playfully shoves his shoulder. "Fitz."

"What?" He holds up his hands defensively. "I'm just saying." He's quiet for a few seconds, sobering before he continues, "But I'm serious, Liv, they look up to you, to everything you've done. You might be too busy changing the world to realize you're doing it, but there's a whole lot of people who do."

They're silent for a long while after that, because he somehow always knows just how to speak to the most vulnerable parts of her, his words like a balm on old wounds she didn't even know she still had.

Eventually, she rests her forehead against his, letting one of her hands cup the back of his neck.

They still don't speak, content in the quiet, until he says lowly, "You know, you owe me lunch."

His tone teeters on the border between playful and suggestive, and she's quick to take advantage of it, leaning in until her lips are close enough to brush against his.

"What about dessert instead?"

She almost doesn't get to finish before he eagerly closes the gap between them, and, like clockwork, they're lost in one another. At once, they both seem to forget where they are, his hands starting to slip under her shirt, and hers tangling in his hair. Within minutes, they're so caught up that they don't hear the knock on his door, only pulling away from one another when someone clears their throat.

At the sight of Simone and Kenneth standing, rather awkwardly, in the doorway, Olivia quickly tries to stand, but Fitz wraps his arms around her waist, keeping her in place.

"Hey, what can I do for you guys?" He asks coolly, not the least bit phased.

"We're sorry to interrupt…" Kenneth blushes, looking anywhere but directly at them.

"We just wanted to thank Ms. Pope," Simone continues and, unlike Kenneth, looks directly at Olivia. "We really appreciated your help, and…" she trails off, only then shifting her gaze.

Olivia and Fitz watch as she and Kenneth exchange a glance, both seeming to silently prompt one another to speak up. Olivia tilts her head slightly in confusion; after working with Simone all day, she knows the young woman is nothing if not confident. In fact, in a lot of ways, Simone reminds her of herself…

"We were just wondering if you could help us," Kenneth finally blurts out, then, as if unsure his words made sense, starts to ramble, "I mean, with the case. Would you please come back and help us with the case? We were able to make a lot of progress because of you, and we'd really appreciate –"

"Kenneth," she cuts him off, stifling a laugh.

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"Yes?" He parrots confusedly, before the realization dawns on him. "Oh, yes as in _yes_." He turns to Simone. "Right?"

Simone cuts her eyes at him, then, seconds later, beams. "Thank you, Ms. Pope. You've taught us so much already, and we're looking forward to learning under your guidance."

"Well I'm happy to help in any way I can." She smiles at both of them, ignoring the smirk she can sense Fitz donning. "You guys are doing really important work that deserves as much attention as possible."

Both Simone and Kenneth nod, smiling appreciatively once more before bidding them good night and slipping back out the door.

"Kiss up." She hears Kenneth mock as they walk away, not realizing he's left the door partially open.

Seconds later, Simone scoffs. "At least I can actually hold a conversation with her. I can't believe I've had sex with you."

" _Have_. You have sex with me."

By the times their voices drift off entirely, Fitz's snickers erupt into full-blown laughter.

"Fitz, stop," she admonishes, starting to laugh with him only seconds later.

"I'm sorry," he gets out between the last of his chuckles. "I just see a lot of my younger self in Kenneth."

"If by younger you mean two days ago," she teases.

He's quick to retaliate, tickling her sides until she's laughing hard again. After a moment, he shows mercy, letting her rest her head against his shoulder to catch her breath.

"And see, what did I tell you?" He runs a hand up and down her back. "They were completely in awe of you, meanwhile it was like I didn't even exist."

"They told you bye," she corrects playfully.

"They told us bye, doesn't count."

"Hmm maybe you were onto something earlier." She raises her head from his shoulder so that she can look at him directly. "Maybe I should be running things around here."

"You know," he grins, cradling her face between his palms, "I don't think that would be a bad idea."

* * *

"Fitz, no –"

"Liv, please, just hear me out."

"Fitz, you can't be serious."

"But I _am_ serious, Liv. I don't want to push it on you, it's entirely up to you, but I just want you to consider it as an actual option."

She huffs, sticking her fork in her carton of lo mein and turning to give him her full attention.

"Ok."

"Ok?" He places his own food on the table, shifting closer to her on the couch.

"I'll consider it."

He nods, but neither makes a move to pick up their food. Both somehow sense that the moment feels unfinished, and so, they wait.

Finally, she can't help but request, "Finish asking me."

"Huh?"

She sighs. "I cut you off before you finished asking me, but I can't actually consider it until you do, so, finish asking me...please."

That makes him smile, and he reaches for her hands. Holding them firmly in his grasp, he fixes his gaze directly on hers and begins sincerely,

"Olivia Pope," he pauses for effect, "will you come work at the foundation with me?"

It occurs to her, then, that this is actually what she needed – to explicitly hear the question that they have been dancing around for the last two weeks. Ever since she started helping with the Brianna Johnson case, she's gone in everyday to work with him, and while the arrangement was only meant to be temporary, she can't help but notice how quickly it started to feel like the norm – and she wasn't the only one. After the first few days, Fitz took to dropping hints, "casually" mentioning other projects and cases she knew he thought she'd might be interested in during their conversations.

They managed to sidestep any real talk about her taking on a more permanent position until this afternoon, when a visit from an old friend of Fitz's – the current president of Georgetown – at the institute ended in a serious job offer for her. Entirely surprised at the time, she could only thank him and ask for a few days to think on it. He gladly agreed, promising her a spot as a lecturer at her alma mater for the next semester whenever she agreed.

As they talked, however, she didn't miss the way Fitz frowned; although she was sure it was unnoticeable to anyone else, his dissent seemed, to her, clear as day. She knew that, especially with where they were now, he'd never discourage her from taking on a job opportunity, but that didn't stop her from spending the entire afternoon and better part of the evening trying to figure out why he seemed to disapprove.

At last, over what had become their usual order of Chinese food, he echoed the very thoughts that had been swimming around in her head for days.

Her being at the foundation everyday felt right, and he didn't want that to end.

And to be honest, neither did she.

 _Will you come work at the foundation with me?_

Obviously not expecting her answer right then and there, he starts to pull away, but her hands grip his, keeping them in place.

Out of habit, she starts to think over every pro and con, every reason why it would or wouldn't work, until her thoughts suddenly come to a screeching halt.

This is something she wants.

She lets herself sit with the idea.

This is what she's supposed to be doing now isn't it? Whatever she wants.

"What about Marcus?"

The question is all he needs to know she's seriously considering it, and she knows it, watching him fight off a smile before answering.

"It wouldn't change anything. He'd still be my right-hand man." He doesn't give her a chance to ask anything else. Letting go of her hands and moving off of the couch, he instead kneels on the ground in front of her and places his hands on her thighs, looking at her intently as he speaks.

"Livvie, I'm not asking you to work for me, I'm asking you to work _with_ me. I want you to help me run the foundation." He flips his hands over, encouraging her to place her palms against his. "I want you to be my partner."

It's all she needs to hear. The realization of what he's asking makes her stomach flip. He wants her to work by his side – to no longer be the woman behind the man, but to be the woman beside the man, to work together like they always have, but, this time, out in the open with equal recognition in a way they never quite could.

Despite how close he is, her "yes" is still too hoarse for him to hear clearly.

"Livvie?" He leans in, the excitement just barely contained on his face as he starts to realize what she's said.

"Yes," she repeats louder, clearer.

 _Yes_ , this is exactly what she wants.

"Yes," she says again, this time her voice cracking with emotion.

In an instant, he has her in his arms and stands, spinning her around as he repeats, "Yes?"

"Yes," she indulges him again, grinning as she lets herself get lost in the sheer joy of the moment.

After a few seconds, when he stops spinning and the world stills again, she can't help but think that everything feels a little more balanced, like _this_ is the way it's truly supposed to be.

Blinking away her tears to clear her vision, she cups his face with her hand.

"We get to change the world together."

She nods.

"We get to change the world together."


	8. Moments II - Plus One

**A/N: Thank you so so much to everyone who read and reviewed the first installment of my post-finale one shots. This is a follow-up to "Moments" (the chapter before this one) that I've been working on for a little while now. I hope I did it justice and that you guys let me know what you think! (Also, to all you reading In the Right Direction, I am back in school...unfortunately lol, but the next chapter is coming along!)**

* * *

"I could feel you stressing out all the way from Natalie's desk."

Olivia scoffs, turning on her heels and striding towards the other end of the room.

"What makes you think I'm stressed?"

She's surprised to find him standing right in front of her when she turns again, stumbling backwards for a second before he grabs her arms to steady her.

"You're pacing." He smirks and looks her once over, his eyebrows rising at the sight of her feet. "And you took off your heels? It must be serious."

She narrows her eyes at him and steps out of his grasp.

"I'm not stressed, I'm thinking."

"Really? Could've fooled me."

With a huff, she crosses her arms. " _Fitz_ –"

" _Olivia_ ," he mimics her tone, in an instant reaching for her again and pulling her into him.

She doesn't have time to stop the laugh that escapes when she collides with his chest. Grinning widely, he wraps his arms around her waist.

"Don't you have a meeting you should be preparing for?" She tilts her head in question but still unfolds her arms to embrace him fully.

"I do." He leans down, taking his time as if he doesn't, and pecks her lips.

"You know, I once had Acker as a client. I can take care of the meeting and you can go instead."

"Liv, we both know you can handle this meeting in your sleep, but we also both know I can't go instead."

Groaning, she shakes her head. "I know, I know. I just don't understand what the problem is. It's not like you're a stranger, they know who you are."

"Doesn't matter." He shrugs, offering a sympathetic smile. "If my name's not on the list, for all intents and purposes, I _am_ a stranger."

She frowns slightly. "Which is why I'd like to know why I'm on the list instead of you. You're the one with actual experience here."

Again, he shrugs. "Maybe because he thought you'd have an easier time making it over there quickly in case of emergencies. He probably thought I was still in Vermont when he filled out those forms."

"That makes sense," she sighs, absentmindedly playing with one of the buttons on his shirt. "I just...I wish you could at least come with me."

Immediately his hand is under her chin, tilting her head upwards to look her straight in the eyes.

"If you really want me to come, I'll cancel this meeting. Just say the word."

She shakes her head, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss him quickly. "No. I appreciate it, but no. This meeting needs to happen today, and I'm just being ridiculous. It'll be fine."

"It will be," he reassures, cupping her cheeks with his hands. "And you're not being ridiculous. You're just nervous."

"I'm not –"

He cuts her off with a look, and she surrenders with a pout.

"Ok, I'm nervous."

"I know," he grins, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "It's kind of cute."

Rolling her eyes, she tries to step out of his embrace. "Goodbye, mister –"

"Wait wait wait." His hands snake around her middle again, pulling her flush against him. "Seriously, talk to me. Why are you so nervous?"

"I don't know." She thinks it over again, her brows furrowing

"You're Olivia Pope," he tries with an encouraging smile, "just think, you've handled much _much_ worse."

A nervous laugh escapes. "Well, temperamental world leaders are one thing," she eyes him pointedly, just long enough for him to feign offense, "but…"

"They don't compare to the potential wrath of a seven-year-old," he teases.

Her gaze settles into a hard glare and she jams her pointer finger into his chest. "Not. Helpful."

Although he tries to keep a serious face, he dissolves into a fit of chuckles, eventually prompting her own laughter despite herself.

"It's not funny!"

"It kind of is." He continues to grin when his laughter dies down. "Especially because I've seen you with Teddy, and you're great with him. You have no reason to worry."

"But that's different," she tries to reason, "I was always around, so he at least knew who I was before we started actually interacting. And you were always there, too." She sighs. "To Ella, I'm basically a stranger, and it'll just be the two of us."

"Only for a few hours," he's quick to add. "And for the record, Teddy didn't just 'warm up to you.' The last time I had him while you were out of town for work, he was upset that his, and I quote, 'best friend 'Livia,' wasn't there to play with him."

Her heart warms at the admission and she can't keep the smile off of her face.

"You just made that up."

"I did not," Fitz leans down, touching his forehead to hers. "That kid adores you, and I guarantee you that Ella will too."

"Adore is a little strong, I'm just trying for like."

Before he has a chance to respond, an alarm on her phone goes off. After turning it off, she looks back up to find Fitz staring at her in amusement.

"You set an alarm?"

Smiling sheepishly, she glances back down at her phone. "I wanted to make sure I left on time. I have to go to the front office to show my ID before they bring her out."

"Well don't let me stop you." Pressing a kiss to her cheek, he takes a step back.

She turns to grab her purse from where it hangs off the back of a chair then makes her way back over to him, leaning in for a final kiss.

"Wish me luck," she mumbles against his lips before finally turning to leave.

She just barely steps outside the office door when he calls after her,

"You don't need it."

* * *

"Ok, Ms. Pope, she'll be out in a minute or two."

"Thank you." Olivia reaches for her license, offering the secretary a small smile as she takes it back before making her way to a bench in the school's lobby.

With a quick glance, she takes in the room, her eyebrows rising at its impressive design and decor. It seems like something straight out of a pamphlet for an Ivy League university rather than the front entrance for a Virginia elementary school. And if it wasn't apparent before, the framed plaques and certificates that line the walls tell her that Michael obviously did his research before deciding to send her goddaughter to Hawthorne Academy.

 _Her goddaughter_.

It's been so long since she's really talked with the young girl that the very thought feels odd, and she can't help but feel guilty. She vowed to help look after her if anything were to happen to her parents, and yet, here they were, both James and Cyrus dead, and neither she nor Fitz had so much as even tried to contact her after the latter's funeral until Michael reached out to them.

In all fairness, part of her knows that it was better that way. Michael was doing an amazing job of taking care of her and had been for just over two years, there was no question about it. Who were they to impose on the perfect little slice of life he had carved out for the two of them after escaping the chaos of D.C.?

Which explains why Michael's call late Wednesday evening came as such a surprise. He didn't offer too many details, just that a childhood friend had passed away and he needed to go home for the funeral service. Unfortunately, in a small town like his, people weren't the _most accepting_ – he had put oh-so-delicately – and he didn't feel comfortable having Ella around his family, let alone around the other pitchfork-toting, confederate flag-waving locals. Just as unluckily, the parents of the only friend he felt comfortable leaving her with were also going to be out of town for the weekend, and his usual babysitter was too swamped with midterms to commit to three days.

Out of options, that left Michael with them.

They didn't hesitate to step up, readily agreeing to watch her before he could actually pose the question. However, while Olivia was more than happy to help out, she was admittedly far less enthused to find out that he had put her name on some form for alternative emergency contacts way back when, leaving her to be the one to pick up Ella from school Friday afternoon instead of Fitz. Alone.

She tried to put up a brave front, but the closer Friday afternoon got, the more worried she became.

She knew a lot about a lot of things, but kids certainly weren't one of them.

And the one thing she did know was that they could see right through you. It was easy to talk circles around grown men who had egos and ulterior motives where their hearts should be, but kids...they were different, they were unnervingly genuine, and you couldn't just _handle_ them.

"Alright, Ella, you're good to go. Oh and don't forget your social studies project."

Her head snaps up and she stands quickly, making her way over to where Ella exchanges goodbyes with a woman that looks just a little too young to be her teacher.

Donning a bright smile, the woman catches Olivia's eye and immediately sticks out her hand.

"Ms. Pope, hi! I'm the teacher's assistant for Ella's class. She was so excited you were coming to pick her up, she's been talking about it all day."

She can't even try to hide the surprise on her face, her eyes going wide for a few seconds before she tries to compose herself. Shaking the young woman's hand, she sneaks a glance at Ella, who suddenly seems incredibly interested in inspecting her shoes.

"Really? I've been talking about it all day, too." It's not a lie in the least bit, and she's more than happy to see that it seems to assure the young girl. Hands fidgeting, Ella looks up at her with a shy smile.

"Well, I hope you two have a great weekend." The young woman bids with a chipper tone, sparing a final glance at Ella. "See you Monday, Ella."

"Bye, Ms. Miller."

And with that, she walks back down the hallway, leaving the two of them alone.

A pang of panic catches Olivia off guard, but she quickly suppresses it, letting instinct take over as she squats until she and Ella are eye level.

"Hi, Ella." She smiles warmly.

Ella just barely holds her gaze, then looks back down at her hands, still fidgeting. Quietly, she mumbles, "Hi."

Her nervousness reignites Olivia's own.

 _Great. It hadn't even been a full minute and she was already making the kid uncomfortable_.

"So," pushing down her nerves, she tries to not let her smile falter, "your dad told you that you'd be staying with us for the weekend, right?"

"Mhmm." Ella nods. "He said I was going to stay with you and Mr. Fitz because you're my...my fairy godparents."

A genuine grin lights up her face at Ella's choice of words, and, at once, her worry begins to ease.

"Well, in that case, you can just call us Liv and Fitz. Ok?"

Again, Ella nods, this time looking up at her when she responds with a soft, "Ok."

Still slightly apprehensive, Olivia quickly tries to come up with something, _anything_ to break the ice, when her gaze settles on the pages of construction paper in Ella's hand – her social studies project, she recalls the teacher's assistant mentioning.

The front page of the homemade booklet reads "The Life of Mae Jemison," accompanied by an adorable drawing of Mae Jemison, herself, in the page's center.

"You did a project on Mae Jemison?"

Ella's entire face brightens instantly.

"Yes, my daddy helped, but I drew the pictures all by myself." She volunteers the colorful pages as evidence without hesitation.

A wave of relief washes over Olivia at her sudden enthusiasm.

 _Maybe she_ _ **can**_ _do this_.

"Wow, that looks great! You know, I met her once."

"You did?" Ella's eyes go wide with excitement.

"I did." Olivia nods, unable to contain her smile as she starts to flip through the pages. "This is such a nice project, I bet you worked really hard on it."

"Uh-huh. My daddy said we can lam – uh, lamin...um put it in special plastic and keep it forever," she shares with a proud, toothy grin.

"Wow, you're going to laminate it?" At her enthusiastic nod, Olivia continues, "That means it must be really special." She glances at it a final time then hands it back to Ella. "You know what?" She stands, holding out her hand without a second thought. "Why don't you tell me all about it in the car?"

Ella instantly reaches for her hand. "Really?"

"Really." she nods, starting to lead her to the front door. "And I think your dad brought some markers when he dropped off the rest of your stuff with us this morning. Maybe you can teach me how to draw pretty pictures like you?"

"Ok!"

* * *

He's nervous.

He wasn't earlier, not when she left. But that was three hours ago, and he hasn't heard from her since, and so he can't help but be nervous.

He knows it should be a good thing. They probably hit it off just like he expected, and he's probably the furthest thing from either of their minds. But he can't help but play the worst case scenario game; what if he really was wrong? What if this truly wasn't going to go as smoothly as he assured Liv it would?

The laughter he's met with when he opens the apartment door immediately puts those thoughts to rest.

He stands there for a few seconds, basking in his surprised relief before quietly closing the door behind him.

"Now you have to fold it again."

"Like this?"

"Uh-huh, then you have to fold the other side, too."

He finds them sitting at the dining room table, both focused intently on one of many pieces of paper scattered across the table. He almost chuckles when he notices they're wearing nearly identical expressions – eyebrows scrunched in concentration, lips pressed together in a straight line.

"Ok, I think it's done."

Liv's eyes widen for a split second when she looks up, clearly surprised to find him standing there. Meanwhile, his gaze falls on the paper plane in her hands.

"Oh, hi, I didn't hear you come in."

"Hi," he grins, making his way further into the room. "I just got in, I didn't want to disturb you guys." He leans down to press a brief kiss to her lips then stands back up, looking at a suddenly bashful Ella who sits beside her.

"Hi, Ella." He moves to kneel next to her seat.

She glances at him quickly, then returns the greeting quietly, "Hi."

He peeks at Liv, who offers a sympathetic smile before mouthing, "She's shy."

Nodding, he takes in the table once more, noting all the pictures and paper planes that sit at its center. "Wow, did you make all of these?"

"No," she shakes her head, looking at him once more. "Liv and I made them together."

"But she taught me everything I know," Olivia joins in. "In fact, she was just showing me how to make a paper plane – the _fancy_ kind."

He watches as she and Ella exchange smiles, the interaction making his heart flip.

"Was she?" He scans the table, picking up a plane and inspecting it carefully. "These look great. Do you think you can teach me?" He looks directly at Ella then leans in and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I bet I'm a much faster learner than Liv."

Within seconds, the plane in Liv's hand is flying the short distance between them, hitting him square in the forehead.

"Hey!"

"I'll have you know it only took me two tries," she boasts proudly.

An eyebrow raised, he turns back to Ella. "I don't believe that. Is it true?"

Giggling over the short exchange, she looks back and forth between the two of them.

"You don't have to answer that." Liv comes to her rescue, smirking as she slides a new sheet of paper in front of him. "But since you have so much to say, let's see how you do while I go reheat our food." She stands from her seat, then bends down until she's right beside Ella. "Don't take it easy on this guy, ok?"

He practically sees the mischief flitter from Olivia's eyes to hers, and, fighting the smile that threatens to split his face in half at the sight, he groans dramatically when Ella nods.

"Hey, that's not fair. Two against one."

"It's not _that_ hard," Ella laughs again at his dramatics. "Promise."

"You hear that, Mr. President?" Liv teases, moving to stand behind him. "In other words, buck up." She lands a playful slap on his shoulder and is quick to slide into the kitchen, just barely dodging his arms as he tries to reach for her.

He grins, returning his attention to Ella. "Alright, quick before she comes back, how do I make one of these fancy planes?"

* * *

"Aren't they impressive?"

He turns to find her standing near the couch with fresh sheets.

"They are." He blows out a breath, glancing again at the fleet of planes that graces the dining room table. "I didn't even know you could make all of those with paper." With a chuckle, he crosses the room and moves the cushions from the couch.

"When she said she wanted to make them, I thought it'd be a few folds and we'd be done, but those are next level."

He shakes his head. "Definitely not as simple as the ones I used to make in grade school."

Together, they reach for the pull-out bed tucked into the couch, naturally falling into a routine. Soon after he moved into the apartment, the chestnut brown sleeper sofa had been their first joint purchase, bought especially for those times when they would have Teddy. By now, setting up the makeshift bed is practically second nature.

"Well, to be fair she does have a bit of an advantage. You heard her at dinner, she learns from YouTube videos." She smirks, flicking her wrists so that the sheet in her hand unravels in his direction.

"True, but I still don't think they would've helped much. I didn't have half the coordination she has at that age."

"Can't say that surprises me."

He lifts his corners, prompting her to do the same. They let the sheet balloon, but before it falls flat on the bed, he tugs on it hard, snatching the corners from her hands.

"Fitz!"

"All this teasing," he tsks, "you're being very mean today."

She rolls her eyes and snatches up the sheet again.

"And I thought Ella was the only child here."

"See, that's what I'm talking about. Just plain mean." This time, he tugs the sheet a little harder, and she doesn't let go, instead falling forward onto the bed. He lets out a loud laugh at her surprised yelp, only to be quieted a moment later when he's pelted by a pillow.

The second the shock wears off, he reaches for another pillow, managing to sneak in a quick hit just before she lands another blow upside his head.

"Damn, Liv." He touches the side of his face, checking his fingers for blood he obviously knows isn't there. "That one hurt."

She eyes him warily, then stands on her knees and moves closer.

"Wait, don't touch it. Let me see –"

The second she reaches out to inspect the eye he's kept clenched shut, he attacks. He whacks her once, then again before she recovers enough to retaliate. They're both laughing, both relentless, when, suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps races across the room.

"Wait for me! Wait for me!"

There's no real warning, just a second pillow that lands clumsily on his shoulder. His grin stretches wide at the sight of Ella kneeling beside Olivia, helping her try to take him down. At her next hit, he decides to take it up a notch, falling dramatically on the bed and letting them get in a few more strikes, then jumping up with gusto to tickle both of them.

They go at it for a few minutes, until they're all falling on the bed in a heap of laughter and tangled limbs.

Eventually, Ella sits up."Liv?"

"Yes?" Olivia turns over, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Are we still going to the museum tomorrow?"

At her question, he also sits up, eyebrows raised."We're going to the museum?"

"I forgot to mention it during dinner," she explains, and he watches on with pure adoration as she tucks a few loose hairs into the bonnet that sits atop Ella's head. "Ella said she's never been to the National Air and Space Museum. I thought it'd be nice to take her, as long as everything checked out with security on your end."

He doesn't realize just how hard he's been staring until she turns to him, a small smirk playing on her lips when she meets his gaze. They're so beyond the point where he feels the need to be embarrassed about it that he doesn't bother to look away. He simply returns her expression before clearing his throat and smiling at the suggestion.

"I think that's a great idea," he says with a little extra enthusiasm for Ella. "I'll just check with Harold to make sure it won't be a problem."

He rises from the bed and pulls out his phone, then decides to make the call in the kitchen when he remembers the dishes still in the sink. Although he and Liv argue more often than not about who's night it is for kitchen duty, he's always silently grateful for the chore, a small reminder of the sliver of domestic bliss they've finally found after all this time.

It takes far longer to wash, dry and put away the dishes than it does to arrange plans for a visit to the museum with his secret service agent, but he doesn't realize just how much time has passed until he makes his way back into the living room.

The TV shows the DVD menu for one of the Teddy's favorite movies, and he's just about to go back to the kitchen to make them some popcorn, when he notices how still Olivia and Ella remain on the pull-out bed. He approaches them slowly, his grin widening with every step he takes.

There, lying side by side in the bed's center, are his better half and their goddaughter, their positions nearly identical, with their eyes closed and arms tucked beneath a shared pillow.

He doesn't hesitate to pull out his phone, suddenly grateful that Teddy showed him how to take pictures on it during his last visit. He snaps a few, then reaches for the blanket that rests at the edge of the bed to drape it over them. Once he's made sure they're tucked in, he leans down, first giving Ella a goodnight kiss on the forehead, then doing the same for Olivia. He lingers for a moment before moving to her lips. He's only a little surprised when he feels her smile against his lips. She's an even lighter sleeper than he is, and she's gotten on him more times than he can count in recent months for disturbing her sleep by stealing kisses.

He leans back only slightly, just enough to whisper, "You want me to bring you to bed?"

"Mmm no," she refuses, mumbling almost incoherently, "I'm comfy."

"Ok, I'll see you in the morning" He tries to kiss her a last time, but she merely turns around and leaves him with the sight of the back of her head. He chuckles and takes a step back from the bed. "Night, Liv."

"Shh, sleeping."

* * *

For a brief second after she wakes, she wonders if she's still dreaming. Innocent, dark brown eyes stare back at her own, and, as her confusion melts, she's warmed by the sweet smile that greets her.

"Good morning." She strokes the flyaways around Ella's edges that escaped from her bonnet during the night.

"Hi." Ella's smile grows brighter. "Are we still going to the museum today?"

"We sure are." Fitz answers, surprising them both as he enters from the kitchen. "Breakfast is already cooking. As soon as you two get dressed and we eat, we can head out."

"Ok!" Ella pops up and quickly climbs out of the bed, then looks back at Olivia, excited and expectant.

Olivia takes her cue, rising – albeit a little slower. "Ok, ok. I'm coming." Once she's out of bed, Ella starts on her way to the bedroom. Before following behind, however, Olivia turns to Fitz. "How long until breakfast is ready?"

"About fifteen minutes." He reaches out for her, gripping her waist as he pulls her close. "So no funny business."

She raises an eyebrow. "I'm not the one who likes to start things they don't actually have time to finish."

Scoffing, Fitz gives her waist a suggestive squeeze. "That's a lie and you know it."

She grins as she rises on her toes, because she knows she's about to prove him right. Just before her lips can meet his, she hears Ella reenter the room.

"Liv?"

His grip on her immediately loosens, and she tries to hold in a laugh as he closes his eyes and sighs. Patting his chest appeasingly, she steps out of his arms.

"Come on, Ella. I can smell the cinnamon rolls. They're going to be done soon." She approaches Ella and doesn't think twice about extending her hand.

"I love cinnamon rolls! Me and my daddy make them on Sundays." Ella joins her hand with Olivia's.

Neither notice the broad smile that appears on Fitz's face at the sight.

"Really, you do?"

"Yup!"

* * *

"Woah, I can see everything from up here."

"Fitz, be careful –"

"Its ok, Liv. I've got her."

"Look! There's the one we walked inside of. Over there, Fitz."

"I know, just maybe step back from the railing a little bit –"

" _Look,_ Liv, look!"

Olivia turns in the direction that Ella points, smiling at her excitement despite her nerves as the young girl sits atop Fitz's shoulders to overlook one of the showcase rooms from the second floor.

"Wow, I see. Look at that."

"It's so cool right?"

"Right," she breathes a sigh of relief when Fitz takes a few steps back from the railing.

Fitz notices and chuckles, then comments offhandedly, "Come on, Liv. Don't be such a mom."

He doesn't seem to think about it as he continues walking, pointing out other exhibits they have already viewed.

But she doesn't move.

His words strike a chord in her so hidden and deep that, for a second, she feels off-kilter.

 _Mom._ The word renders her temporarily stunned – something so eerie about it in that moment, as she watches Fitz with a giggling Ella in his arms. It seems to sit on her skin, and she realizes, way _way_ in the back of her mind, that for the first time in a very long time, she's trying it on for size.

It's been years since the thought's crossed her mind and even longer since she's truly entertained it, and she's not sure at all if it fits quite right.

"Liv?" Ella calls out, and it's only then that she realizes how far they've walked.

She hurries to their side, pretending to look at something on her phone to save face – if not for in front of them, than for the small crowds that have followed them from a distance since they've arrived.

"Hey, hey, no work." Fitz plucks the phone from her hand as soon as she's close enough.

"It was just Abby, she had a question about something," she tries.

"I thought Abby was out of the country visiting your friend Stephen."

She immediately chastises herself for not thinking of a better excuse, then him for being so attentive.

When she doesn't respond, he eyes her suspiciously. "You ok?"

And she nods, a little too quickly for it to be entirely believable. "Uh-huh."

When his stare doesn't let up, she follows Ella's line of sight and clasps her hands together. "Hey, Ella, did you know they have a model plane for that one in the gift shop?"

"They _do_?"

"I think so. I saw them on the way in." She smiles gratefully as Ella wiggles to get down, effectively distracting Fitz. "Would you like one?"

"Yes, please."

* * *

It takes a little longer than expected to finally make it into the gift shop, as his agent decides it's best that the museum's security clears out the store before he will give them the all clear. The small crowds that have been following them indiscreetly during their entire trip gather to look on from outside the glass, while Howard mans the entrance, leaving them with only the eager employee behind the register.

He watches silently for a few minutes while Olivia points out different souvenirs and knick-knacks to Ella, offering his input about certain makes and models every so often. It's not until the young associate gets Ella's attention with a pack of freeze dried ice cream that he sees his chance.

He places a hand on the small of Olivia's back, frowning when she tenses for a moment.

"Liv?" He looks down at her worriedly.

"Hmm?" She keeps her eyes on Ella, and his worry only grows.

Leaning down so that only she can hear, he asks quietly, "What's wrong?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing, I'm just...thinking."

"About what?"

Finally, she turns to him, considering him for a moment. He sees her eyes flicker to the door, to where a few dozen pairs of eyes are watching their every move.

"Do you think Michael will be mad?"

It's not what he's expecting at all, and the confusion must show clear as day on his face, because she's quick to add, "About us bringing her here? Out in public like this. There will probably be pictures online…"

"Hey, don't worry about it." He cups her cheeks, instinctively caressing them with his thumbs. "I doubt he expected us to keep her inside all weekend, and look at her," they both glance over to where she's talking excitedly with the associate about some sort of outdoor rocket launcher. "She's having a great time. That's all that matters."

"You're right," she agrees with a small smile.

And then, because he can't help but tease her, he says as she so often has, "I always am."

She scrunches up her nose. "Is that what I sound like?"

"Well, usually a little more arrogant –"

She smacks his arm and he chuckles hard, before pulling her in for a kiss.

Although she tries to pull away, he doesn't let her when a chorus of "Aww's" sounds from outside the shop. He only relents when someone clears their throat, turning to find Ella at his side and the associate watching from a few feet away.

"Hey," he directs at Ella, "decide on what you wanted to get?" He just barely contains his grin, as he watches Olivia duck her head shyly from the corner of his eye. There are very few things that can make Olivia Pope blush, and he takes pride in being the reason behind most of them.

"Um I think so." Suddenly her face gets serious, and it's an expression that so closely mirrors one he's seen on Liv so many times before that he can no longer keep the smile off his face. "I think I want the plane or the rocket, or the binoculars."

"Well," he squats to her level, "how about we get you all three?"

Her eyes go wide. "Really?"

"Really," he nods.

By the time he stands, Olivia is already at the counter with the associate, the counter cluttered with practically everything Ella looked at. He watches with amusement as Ella approaches the counter, realizing what's happening.

"Is all of that for me?"

He watches Liv and the associate share a smile, just before she responds, "As long as your dad doesn't make you share with him."

She just barely finishes before Ella throws herself at her legs, hugging her tightly.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you."

He walks up behind her, handing over his card before she can get hers out of her purse.

Her head snaps up, and she narrows her eyes at him. "Fitz –"

"You took too long." He shrugs unapologetically. "Plus, you bought dinner last night."

"Wow, be careful there."

They both turn at the associate's warning to see Ella struggling to pull two large bags off the counter.

"Ella, those bags are bigger than you," Olivia laughs.

Fitz quickly reaches for the bags, his eyebrows rising when his arms drop with their weight. He lowers his voice, "Now Michael's definitely going to be mad about this. I thought we said a few things?"

Ella's eyes remain locked on the bags, and she grins ecstatically. "This is the best day of my life!"

"She's having a great time," Olivia returns his words from earlier, even mimicking his voice. Then, she smiles sweetly. "And Michael isn't going to be mad at me, you're the one who paid."

"You're something else," he shakes his head, "you know that?"

"I've been told once or twice," she says in a way that manages to make her words sound oh-so-suggestive.

He just about forgets where they are, sliding one of the bags onto his wrist and starting to reach for her, "Is that right?"

But then, Ella – with just as impeccable timing as this morning – asks suddenly, "Can I try the astronaut ice cream in the car?"

They exchange knowing smiles, a silent agreement of, " _maybe later?_ "

"You sure can. I think it's in this bag."

* * *

"Ok, Ella, you're all packed. Your dad should be here early tomorrow morning."

Ella looks up from her food at the dining room table, a splash of sauce resting just above her upper lip. Olivia can't help but laugh at the sight, and, when Fitz walks back in from the bathroom a moment later, his laughter joins hers.

Ella stares at them confusedly. "What's so funny?"

"You have a sauce mustache," Fitz explains, then walks over to pick her up and hold her in front of the closest mirror.

She blinks at her reflection, then falls into a fit of giggles.

"I have a sauce mustache," she repeats between her laughter. "Look, Liv, I have a sauce mustache!"

Olivia joins them in the mirror, all three of them now laughing. She's just about to go get a paper towel, when she notices, not for the first time in the past hour, Ella toying with her hair, pulling at the loose strands that stick out from her braids.

After a moment, she decidedly makes her way to the bedroom. By the time she returns, Fitz has wiped off Ella's face, and the two have moved from the now-cleared dining room table to the pull-out bed.

"We're gonna watch a movie," Fitz explains when she joins them. "Ella said she wanted to watch that vampire one." He points to the screen, and she glances at it, but her focus is elsewhere.

"That sounds great." She climbs onto the bed, still holding the items she got from on top of her dresser. "Ella?" She waits until she has the young girl's attention, "I was thinking maybe I could do your hair while we watch." She holds up the combs, brush and small tub of grease for Ella to see. "If that's ok with you?"

She doesn't know how she expected her to respond, but she's caught off guard by the brilliant smile that takes over her face.

"Yes, please!"

Olivia can't help but stare in surprise. She vividly remembers hating the very thought of getting her hair done, of hours spent crying and cursing in front of the mirror when she was twelve because she refused to let anyone but her mother even attempt to do her hair.

And something about the thought makes her breath hitch. Something about the way Ella trustingly settles between her legs and tilts her head without question – it's all suddenly overwhelming.

She doesn't move for a long time, not until she realizes Fitz is calling her.

"Liv...Livvie –"

"Huh?" She blinks, coming out of her daze.

His entire face shows his concern "Are you ok?"

By now, Ella is looking up at her, also worried.

"I'm...yeah, I'm good." She nods to reassure them. "Just remembered something."

Ella accepts her assurance and turns back around, but Fitz continues to stare at her worriedly. She's still thinking of a way to calm him, when Ella suddenly speaks,

"Are you going to sleep in here again with me after the movie, Livvie?"

And that's when she feels it – a peace so all-encompassing that she has to wonder why she's ever wanted to feel anything else. She doesn't realize just how intimate of a nickname it is until that moment; it's a sweet disarmament, a call to her true self that has only truly belonged to Fitz and Fitz, alone, for the past several years.

She realizes at once how perfect it is to share it, too, with Ella. How perfect it is to open that part of herself, the most vulnerable and honest part, with the little girl that sits in front of her.

 _Livvie_. It fits like a glove, a simple confirmation that this, right here, is where she was always meant to be, _who_ she was always meant to be.

"If that's what you want," she finally answers Ella's question, then returns her attention to Fitz.

She immediately knows she doesn't need to say anything, because Fitz can tell. Somehow, he can always tell. The worry disappears from his face, replaced over the next several minutes with admiration as he watches her carefully remove barrettes, undo chunky twists and start to re-braid cornrows.

It's not until a long stretch of silence passes that Ella speaks again, "What happened to the movie?"

Fitz quickly turns it on, but returns his attention to her. She has to bite down on a smile when she catches his gaze; his eyes are glazed over with rapt curiosity as they follow her hands, gently greasing Ella's scalp between braids.

Eventually, she reaches for his hand and guides it into the container. He swipes a glob and she snickers, wiping most of it off until there's just enough, then leading his finger down the small part in the center of Ella's head.

Ella doesn't budge, completely focused on the movie in front of her, and that gives them a chance to bask in the moment. They share sweet smiles that seem to say all that needs to be said, that show how utterly content they truly are, here and now, when it's just them and their plus one.

* * *

"Thank you so much again for watching her."

"It was our pleasure, Michael." Fitz makes his way over to Olivia the moment she enters with Ella's overnight bag. He grabs it and brings it over to Michael.

Olivia follows him over, offering again, "Are you sure you don't want anything? Tea? Water?"

"No, thank you," he shakes his head, "I want to get back on the road early to beat the Sunday traffic."

Fitz notices him glancing around the apartment, presumably looking for Ella. He's just about to tell him that she's probably in the back, looking at her hair in the full length mirror like she's been doing all morning, when she finally emerges.

"Daddy, you're back!"

Michael immediately sinks low enough to embrace her fully as she races over to him.

"Hi, munchkin, I missed you."

"I missed you, too. Look at how Liv did my hair."

She steps out of his hug and turns around excitedly to show off the two buns atop her head and the cornrows Liv added to the back. She was about halfway through last night when she mentioned something about making the style "last longer," and he could only watch in awe as she spent extra time parting and braiding the hair on the back of Ella's head.

Ella fell asleep before she could finish, but the moment she saw the finished product that morning, she couldn't wipe the grin from her face.

"Wow, that's so pretty, Ella-Bella." Michael smiles and picks her up to get a closer look.

"I hope you don't mind," Olivia says.

"Not at all." Michael's grin is almost as wide as Ella's was by the time he turns back to them. "She's been begging me to do something like this for weeks, but I haven't gotten it down just yet. Maybe you can show me?"

Fitz doesn't miss the absolute joy that passes over Olivia's face at the suggestion, and it makes his own heart swell.

"Definitely." She nods.

"Daddy?" Ella interjects.

"Yes?"

"Can we still have cinnamon rolls even though I already had them with Livvie and Fitz?"

All three adults share a laugh at her request, and Michael pretends to think.

"Hmm I guess so, as long as you make sure to share them with me."

"Yay!"

"Oh wait," Olivia ducks out of the room before they can leave, then quickly returns with the bags from the museum.

Michael's eyes go wide. "What is that?"

"We went to the museum, Daddy!"

"You did?" Michael engages with her as best he can, but his attention remains on the two large bags of toys that now rest beside Ella's overnight bag.

"We might have gone a bit overboard." Fitz scratches the back of his head.

"You definitely did," Michael chuckles.

"Daddy, we saw planes and spaceships and I ate, um, dryer ice cream…"

" _Freeze dried_ ice cream," Olivia supplies at the confused look on his face.

"Oh," he nods, then smiles at Ella, "well, it sounds like you had a good time with Liv and Fitz, huh?"

"Uh-huh. I had really really _really_ , super good time."

"And we had a really super good time with her, too." Olivia reaches out to stroke her cheek briefly, and both Fitz's and Michael's smiles grow at the exchange.

"I'm glad." Michael kisses Ella's temple, then sets her down and sighs. "Alright, we should probably get going."

Ella pouts at the announcement, and just as Fitz starts to help Michael with the bags, Olivia scoops her up in a hug.

"We'll miss you, Ella."

Even after this weekend, Fitz nearly does a double take, because as many times as she's been affectionate with him, it's still so rare for him to see that side of Olivia with anyone else.

"I'll miss you, too." Ella squeezes her arms around Olivia's neck, and the two remain like that for a long moment before Liv finally puts her down.

She walks straight over to him, and he doesn't hesitate to mimic Liv's actions, picking her up and hugging her tightly.

"I'll see you later, Ella."

"Bye, Fitz."

Her shoulders slump when he sets her on the ground, and the pout on her face absolutely melts him. He turns to see Olivia raising a hand to her chest, her eyebrows creased, and he knows it's having the same effect on her.

"Alright, come on, you little drama queen." Michael extends his hand for her to hold. "Stop pouting, you'll see them again."

That makes her smile, and she takes her father's hand.

"Thank you so much again." Michael offers as a final goodbye as they step into the hallway.

"Anytime," Fitz responds, hoping he knows they truly mean it.

From the elevator, Ella spares a final glance in their direction and waves just as the doors close.

"Bye!"

"Bye, Ella."

* * *

She's never noticed how quiet the apartment is until now. She's halfway through helping Fitz clean up their breakfast when she has to go turn on the TV for background noise. She goes to change the channel once it's on, then decides to leave it on Ella's cartoons.

She's surprised to find Fitz giving her a knowing glance when she returns to the kitchen, and it takes her a little while to remember that he must understand, because he's done the same many times after Teddy's left.

"You miss her?" He asks eventually, no hints of teasing, just genuine understanding.

"I do." She nods.

In seconds, she's in his arms, her head against his chest while he pulls her in close.

"Me too."

They don't pull away for a long while. And when they do, he holds her face in his hands.

"I knew you were going to be great with her," he smiles.

And she has to smile, too, because he did know. He always knows her, even when she doesn't entirely know herself.

"I loved watching you two together," he adds, even without needing to, because she's seen it all weekend. The stares, the smiles, the way his face lit up when they interacted, they all told her as much.

But then, unexpectedly, his words strike her with the urge to ask him something. It sits on the tip of her tongue, and she comes so close to saying it.

But she refrains. It's not the right time.

 _It'll never be the right time._

She knows this, but as she takes him in, his eyes suddenly filling with desire that's been building, slowly and surely, as he's watched her all weekend, she decides it truly can wait for a later time.

* * *

Something's on her mind. He can tell. It's been half an hour since they returned to bed from their shower, having spent most of the day entangled together, and, ever since, she's been staring at her phone, pretending to read and scroll, thinking he can't tell.

But he can. He absolutely can. And so, he pretends to read his book, lingering on the same two pages much longer than necessary. It's a silent sign, because he knows she's observing him just as much as he is her.

A minute goes by. Then another, and another.

Finally, she turns to him and he lowers his book, wordlessly giving her his full attention.

"Did you…do you..." she starts then stops, and he watches patiently as she tries to find the right words. After a moment, she sighs and starts again. "Do you ever get upset about," she pauses, as if hoping he'll figure the rest out, but he genuinely has no idea of just where she's going with this and can only scrunch his eyebrows.

"About?"

Another sigh.

"About my abortion?"

"Oh," it leaves his mouth in a quick breath as he blinks in complete surprise.

"Wait," she sits up, worry etched onto her features. "Didn't you – did you not? I thought that you..." she closes her eyes, "Fitz –"

"No," he corrects quickly, "no, I knew, I know." Although he certainly hadn't expected her to bring it up, the last thing he wants is for her to get so worked up that it ends the discussion before it really starts. They've been increasingly better at communicating as of lately, and while it's made a world of a difference for them in the best way, the process to actually opening up still doesn't always come easily.

"Oh." She starts to relax on the bed again.

They're both silent for a long moment, both holding their breath.

"I was," he eventually speaks.

She turns to look at him, her eyes wary and curious.

It's his turn to sigh, and he takes a second to think over his words.

"When I found out, I was...angry. I was hurt." He lets the memory linger for a moment as he stares up at the ceiling. "But then I had that conversation with Mellie – the one about my speech for the convention. I mentioned it to you."

She nods. "I remember."

"And I guess that just put some things in perspective."

He feels the bed shift slightly, and when he turns to glance at her, she's lying on her back, staring at her hands.

"That day in the oval, when you were talking about what she said and apologized for not listening, I don't think I entirely realized you knew then, but then you said that you supported my choice, and I just kept replaying that moment in my head."

He reaches for one of her hands, grasping it firmly in his.

"I meant it, you know? Still do."

They're silent again for a long while before he speaks once more,

"I want to ask you something, but," he shakes his head, "I don't know if I should."

"I brought it up," she squeezes his hand reassuringly, "go ahead."

He takes a moment because he knows they're about to tiptoe into sensitive territory, threatening at any moment to push against the very few boundaries that still guard the edges of their hearts.

"How did… I mean, when did you decide?"

She tenses for a second, then stays quiet for so long he starts to wish he hadn't actually asked.

"Everything had been so hectic," she eventually starts, her gaze taking on a faraway look, "between the impeachment trial, my father and me moving in, I felt like I was in a fog. By the time I actually tried to let myself begin to process the fact that I was pregnant, I just...couldn't."

Her brows furrow.

"I...I _literally_ couldn't fathom bringing a child into a world I was suffocating in." She pauses, her words settling heavily around them as she continues, "And I was ok with that. I could accept that and be ok with my decision, but," she releases a shaky breath, "I didn't think that you would be. We had already drifted so far apart, I knew it'd just hurt you and make things worse, so...I didn't tell you."

He doesn't realize until a few seconds after she finishes that he's been holding his breath again, steeling himself against the way the room has slowly been deflating. Swallowing hard, he releases her hand to run his own through his hair. It takes him a minute to sort through his responses to her revelation, to work out exactly what it is he's feeling enough to form a cohesive thought.

"Can I be honest?"

 _Can I be honest_ – it's become something of a shorthand, their code for: "what I'm about to say might upset you, but I don't mean to hurt you or want this to turn into an argument." They first started using it at work, an easy way to work through professional disagreements without letting them spiral into full-blown arguments, and it had somewhere along the way become just as crucial to their personal dealings.

"Of course." She shifts so that she's lying on her side, emphasizing that he has her full attention.

He traces his pointer finger down the side of her face, instinctively needing the contact, then pulls back and breathes in deeply.

"I think that's the part that still bothers me. I didn't really realize it until you said it, but the fact that you didn't feel like you could tell me, it hurts."

She nods, but, obviously sensing he's not done, remains quiet.

"And I think part of why it hurts is because I can understand _why_ you felt that way. Like you said, we weren't in a good place, I had stopped being perceptive of what was going on with us, of what was going on with _you_ , and I...I honestly don't know how I would've reacted in the moment."

"But you still would've liked the chance to," she supplies for him when he grows silent.

Blinking against the sting of oncoming tears, he nods. "I think so."

Just as he clears his throat, she hesitantly reaches for his hand, visibly relaxing when he lets her take it in hers.

"Even when you were listening," she laces her fingers through his, "I wasn't talking, not the way I should have been at least, and that's on me. We were supposed to be all in, and I wanted to, Fitz, I really did, but things were happening so quickly and...I got scared, so I started pulling back."

Slowly, he begins to caress her thumb with his own. "I knew you were. I could tell." He sighs again, "But part of me thought if I just held on tight enough to this ideal of what we were meant to be, just believed in it enough for the both of us, that everything would work itself out. And if I acknowledged the cracks in the glass...then that'd mean admitting that it could break." After a few seconds of quiet, he chuckles humorlessly, "I guess I was scared, too."

Rather than respond, she shifts closer to him, lying her head on his chest and snuggling into his side. He wraps his arm around her and pulls her in without hesitation, just as desperately needing the closeness. It's a wordless reminder of just how far they've come, of how far removed they are from one of the darkest points in their relationship.

They're only like that for a minute when Olivia speaks up.

"I don't regret my decision." Her voice is quiet, and when she glances up at him, tears shine in her eyes. "But I think I would have liked to have had a hand to hold."

Her words flood him with a new wave of emotion, and he can only nod, pulling her impossibly closer. Neither speaks after that; they don't need to, instead letting the silence and one another's touch soothe the ache of their raw vulnerability. The more time that's passed and the more open they've gotten, the easier it's been to forget just how overwhelming new levels of transparency between them still have the potential to be.

Yet, in the midst of it all – as strange as it may seem – he finds himself feeling oddly grateful. Grateful that they're here and actually having the difficult conversations, that they're able to wade through the murky waters of their past without the fear that it will destroy their future. It may not always be pleasant, but it's a sign of progress – a testament to the ways they've grown and will continue to do so together.

They lie together in silence for so long that their breathing eventually evens out in sync. His eyes just start to drift close when she calls out to him softly.

"Fitz?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think we can have Ella over again?"

A small smile tugs at his lips, and when he glances down at her, he sees that she's wearing a nearly identical expression.

"I definitely think we can make that happen."

* * *

 **A/N:** **I've been sitting on this one for a while now. After the finale and seeing everyone's thoughts on that final moment, I realized I really liked the idea that one of the girls was Ella and wanted to explore their relationship with her in some capacity. I've also really wanted to revisit 5x09 (as painful as it still may be) for a while now, so like I said earlier, I really just hope I did all of that justice. I'd love to hear your thoughts/opinions/critiques, because they always help so much. I'm not sure how long people will be around reading these, but I'm really excited to continue building on these little ideas of where they are now.**


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